


BossaNova.EXE

by vol_ctrl, XIntensity_FallsX



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Art, Banter, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Canon-Typical Violence, Collaboration, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Multimedia, Pin-ups, Seduction, Songfic, Switches, Vox Talks Like Max Headroom, lots of banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23568940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vol_ctrl/pseuds/vol_ctrl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/XIntensity_FallsX/pseuds/XIntensity_FallsX
Summary: Vox has always had an obsession with Alastor--much to the Radio Demon's ire and amusement. But Alastor discovers how he might be able to use this obsession to manipulate his everlasting rival, by using the utterly unexpected coming from him: seduction. Oh, this should beveryentertaining . . .
Relationships: Alastor & Alastor's Shadow (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Alastor's Shadow (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Valentino & Vox (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 185
Kudos: 606





	1. Moonlight Serenade

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this wild ride of a collaboration that started simple and quickly spiraled out of control. (Those familiar with my work will NOT be surprised. It is my curse.) I teamed up with the wonderful fellow HH artist/writer [Kyng](https://twitter.com/kyng_sg) with the intention of doing some stylish pin-ups of Alastor, and well... It turned into a whole thing.
> 
> This fic ended up being very multimedia! There's lovely art for each chapter, and there are a LOT of song references. This _is_ Alastor and Vox were talking about. All songs will be linked within the text.
> 
> So I hope you enjoy reading this whole thing as much as I enjoyed writing it. Big ups to Kyng for the wonderful art, and the support & inspiration during the writing!

“Thanks for tuning in, ladies and gentlemen. As always, this is your host and resident terror, Alastor, signing off. And now, for the musical stylings of Glenn Miller. _Stay tuned ~_ ” 

As the smoky buzz of [ _Moonlight Serenade_ ](https://youtu.be/rjq1aTLjrOE)began to drift through the air, Alastor sighed, a sound of utter contentment. He ran his fingers through his hair, dragging gore through it, combing gore from it, and breathed deep of the carnage.

Alastor stood amidst a freshly desolate territory. It was utterly still. The only thing that moved in the air was smoke of ruin, drifting freely toward the dark moon above. Tranquility. That was the reward after a good carnage. Well, the journey was just as much reward as the end result, by Alastor’s count.

“What a _feast,_ ” Alastor crooned to his microphone, cradling the speaker in his claws lovingly. Lost souls were still slowly crawling from their spent corpses to be devoured by the giddy-eyed device.

Under all the blood and gore, Alastor’s skin was clear, practically glowing with the glut of souls replenishing him. His eyes glittered in the wake of the feast. The amount of power exerted paled in comparison to the return on investment.

The quiet smoulder and bay of horns from Benny Goodman’s _[Sing Sing Sing](https://youtu.be/r2S1I_ien6A), _Alastor’s come-down, was interrupted by the slow click of bootheels on rubble, and then a sardonic, leisurely clap of hands.

A neon-blue glow smiled through the smoke. Alastor heard another set of bootheels, the tap of a cane. The mirage of silhouettes were unmistakable.

“Wz-wx--what a show, Al!” Vox said. As he clapped more enthusiastically, he was accompanied by a growing roar of applause from somewhere inside that TV head. “Well, well, well…” Vox’s head turned slowly to take in the destruction. “You’ve really ox--oz-outdone yourself.”

“Sssshame it was just a radio show. Think of the ratings,” Valentino mused as he strode smoothly over the crumbled street. “Sssex and violenssce--that’s what sells,” he hissed with a grin, rubbing the fingers of one hand together.

Alastor greeted Vox with a tap of his microphone stand to the ground. “I didn’t realize you listened to my show,” he said lightly. “A shame--you’ve arrived too late to be my guests.” His dangerous, bloodlust smile curled.

“Woulda bz-bx--been here for the grand finale,” fireworks animated across Vox’s screen, “but y’know it’s hard to tell on the rx-rz-radio.” The TV demon smirked.

“I was bored to tears,” Valentino sighed.

Vox laughed. “Izzat right, Val? I’d say you’s was dx-dz-distracted.”

Judging by the lecherous smirk that passed between the two overlords, Alastor could only guess that the Porn King had been indisposed with some unspeakable lewd act.

“To what do I owe the displeasure, Vox?” Alastor asked, his voice calm and laced with the pleasant buzz of the high he was riding. “Have you and your _roach_ friend come to skulk about for scraps?”

Valentino’s cane cracked through the asphalt with the force of his displeasure, red eyes aglow through his heart-shaped glasses.

Vox narrowed his eyes at Alastor. “You’re so much more cz-cx-charming on the radio, Al,” he sighed.

“You weren’t planning on claiming thisss territory, were you, Radio Demon?” Val hissed, his grin a snarl. “You know where you are, don’t you?” He tilted his chin up. Following the line of his raised jaw pointed directly at the gleaming edifice of xXx Studios.

“Right sz-sx-smack dab in the middle,” Vox buzzed. His screen flickered to display a map of Pentagram City, one of the angles of the star colored neon blue, the adjacent one a searing pink, and between the two, a red dot with the words ‘YOU ARE HERE.’

“How could I forget?” Alastor replied as he looked distastefully at the massive television tower that pierced the sky down the other arm of the pentagram, smile never faltering. It had not been his intention to stray this far, but, well, he got a bit caught up in the moment during his broadcasts. “Is that why you’re here? To _muscle_ me off your turf?” Alastor shot a pointed look at Valentino, who was not known for persuasion through violence; his strengths lay in other realms.

“Two against one? I like those oddsss,” Valentino hissed and took a step forward.

“Now, now,” Vox placated in a sing-song voice. A sickly sweet track straight out of an afternoon special came fuzzy from the TV speakers as a picture-perfect neighborhood with blue skies and chirping birds played on his screen. “Play nx--nz-nice, boys.” Vox’s face flickered back into place as he clasped his hands and advanced on Alastor.

“I kz-kx-know how much _fun_ you have during your show,” Vox said. “Yx-yz-yes, Al, bx--bz-buddy ol’ pal, I listen to your show.” His eyes narrowed. “But rarely do I have the ox-oz-opportunity to catch you in the act.”

As Vox drew nearer, a vacuum-tube hum began to emanate from the radio demon, growing louder the closer Vox came.

Vox stopped a few feet from Alastor, undeterred by the blaring frequency that caused rubble to shift and dust to whirl, an unseen wind picking up like a forcefield around him. Valentino, on the other hand, felt the static in his bones, rattling his teeth, and he turned half away to disguise the grimace on his face.

“How could I rz-rx-resist?” Vox asked. “A chance to see you… undone?” The TV demon’s eyes traveled slowly down Alastor’s blood-splattered frame.

Alastor tilted his head with the scratch of garbled stations. “A shame you missed the show,” he mused.

“Hahaha,” Vox laughed, sans the laugh track. The cold, heavy, solitary sound chilled Alastor; a shiver of anticipation, his wrong-headed response to danger. “No, this,” Vox waved at hand at Alastor, then crossed an arm over his middle, propped an elbow to rest his screen against his knuckles, “ _tz-tx-this_ is what I came to see.”

“Pardon?” Alastor’s heavy-lidded eyes stared into the subtle static fuzz, something he had only seen a handful of times, as he rarely was so close to the other overlord.

“The post-orgasm bliss,” Vox said bluntly.

Valentino barked out a laugh.

Alastor stiffened and his brow furrowed.

“Yeah--yeah, you get ox-oz-off on this. I see it.” Vox grinned. “I know your deal, man. I see you. I see **_EVERYTHING,_ **” his voice was suddenly monstrous, no longer the cheesy, sleazy game show host, but something horrible and distorted that curdled the blood. Just as quickly as it tore through the air, it vanished, and Vox went on. “You’re not in it for the glory, or the territory. You’re in it for the bz-bx-blood.”

Vox’s eyes dropped to Alastor’s belt, making no attempt to hide his investigation. “Thought there’d be a little az-ax--after show.” He looked up to catch the unamused grin on Alastor’s face. “You know that’s why you’re so pz-px-popular, right? It’s like _pure sex_ listenin’ to you describe it. Oh, and the climax?” Vox turned to look over his shoulder. “How good is the fuckin’ climax, Val?”

Valentino smiled easily. “Five starsss. If you’re into that kind of thing.”

Alastor eyed the TV Overlord and the Porn King in turn, bemused by their interpretation of his performance. “I take pride in my craft,” he mused. “But at the end of the day… it’s just a living.”

Vox let out a surprised ‘ha!’. He burst into laughter. “Get this gx-gz-guy, Val! It’s a living! Christ,” he howled.

“Gentlemen,” Alastor said, growing weary of all this talk from the insufferably modern demon before him. “My sincerest apologies, but the show is over--”

“Nah,” Vox interjected. “Nah, this is good.”

Alastor raised a brow up at Vox’s hungry gaze.

“I like seeing you lz-lx-like this,” Vox said with a pop of his eyes. “All… mussed and wet.”

Alastor looked down at his coat veritably soaked through with blood.

“Blood wrestling goes over better than jello wrestling down here,” Valentino chimed in.

Vox grinned. “Yeah, that’s something even yz-yx--you’d be into, Al.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes at Vox. “Just what are you implying?”

“Always fancied a partnership with you, Az-Ax--Alastor.” Vox grinned.

Alastor’s eyes flicked to Valentino as the cockroach hiss-snickered into his glove.

“Cz-cx--come by the studio. Do a lx-lz-little publicity spot.”

“Oh? You’d allow _me_ into your studio?” Alastor said innocently, but his grin promised destruction.

One of Vox’s eyes widened at that deliciously threatening look. “Oh, I’d tie you up, baby--” he said in a low, sultry buzz as he leaned toward the demon in red.

“This conversation has been illuminating,” Alastor said swiftly and turned on his heel, hands snapping behind his back in his usual poise. “But you should know one thing, dear fellows.” He stopped once he had retained several feet of distance from Vox. He turned with a charming smile. “After a show,” he began lightly, then, like a switch flipped, his eyes burned bright red and his pupils reduced to radio dials, “ _I only grow_ **_more_ ** _hungry.”_ His voice grated the very air. Even the usually-immune TV demon felt it like nails raked down his back.

The radio demon straightened. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said without turning and walked across the wasteland left of the territory.

How curious. That was not at all what Alastor had expected from a conversation with his rival. Animosity, yes, but the flirtation--most unusual. Was the television demon so dim-witted that he thought that would work?

It had put him on edge. That was the trouble with these modern overlords. Alastor never knew what to expect from them. They came from a different time, and bridging the gap between those generations was nigh impossible.

It mattered not. Alastor was an overlord in his own right over his domain. Territory was impermanent and attempting to stake claim over a certain district or geography was a fool’s errand. Why bother with defending one’s turf when one could control the very airwaves?

But that proved to be the root of his rivalry with Vox. The television overlord, like himself, held sway over the minds and hearts of the populace through the media. An unsteady truce had floated between them over the years as they dominated their separate frequencies. But Vox’s reputation preceded him, and since Valentino had shown up on the scene and they began broadcasting their grotesque pornography, there had been a veritable explosion of Vox’s control over Pentagram City. It was unsettling.

Had that all been a show of Vox’s own? An exertion of his power? Did he think he could woo Alastor with the promise of an alliance?

No, Alastor realized with a pleased smile. No, Vox had shown his cards. He had shown his weakness. Unlike Alastor himself, Vox _could_ be swayed by the promise of sex. Just what would Vox have promised him if Alastor obliged?

Hm. A curious thought.


	2. Ain't Got Nobody, Nobody But You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastor considers how to set his plan into motion, and decides on a course of action. He calls out to his long-time adversary with a song dedication at the end of his radio show, and sends him a little _gift_.

Alastor had no intention of wooing the television overlord. Firstly, he had no idea how to do that. Secondly, he had no desire to learn.

The Radio Demon had charm, but flirtation had never been in his wheelhouse. His charm was often mistaken for flirtation--and so much the better. But Alastor knew that he would not win Vox’s attention, his desire, through banter. Their conversations usually ended with a burning bloodlust raging in Alastor, and so much flexing on Vox’s part, Alastor was amazed his suit didn’t rip.

No, Vox was too dull for Alastor’s wit. He was too boorish for his charm. Alastor would have to resort to something more visceral. Something  _ visual  _ to stimulate what passed for a brain in that modern monstrosity of a head.

Alastor may not have indulged in any courtship rituals of his own, not for the end result of the physical sort he knew to be Vox’s weakness, but he was far from ignorant of them. The thought of wasting words to craft some filth that might appeal to Vox’s sensibilities did not amuse Alastor. However, the thought of using his very own language to seduce him--now that was entertaining.

Not moving pictures, no. The very idea made his skin crawl. But something salacious--a still image that would entice. Oh, but always leave him wanting more. That was the trick.

Alastor had come into possession of a Contax I during the last years of his life before. He was not one for keeping trophies--not from his human victims, anyway. But in his spiraling madness, his flawless victory of remaining uncaught and unsuspected, he had toyed with the idea of photographing his work.

The singular focus of the act, the feeling of being utterly present, the removal of all else from his mind--that was what he was addicted to. He had thought perhaps he could extend that climax, that release, if he captured it on film. He was a busy man in those days, what with a roaring success of a radio show and invitations to guest-host all over the country, inquiries about interviews piling in his mailbox. It was tiring, just finding the time for his little indulgences.

The photographs had proved a disappointment. They failed to capture the minutiae of the moment. One could not hear the last breath escape the lungs, nor the death-rattle that followed. The tang of blood in the air, the putrid smell of organs, was lost on film. And the  _ sound _ \--no, photography was not his medium.

But he had given it a good old college try, and knew his way around the mechanism well enough to suit his needs now.

The plot to seduce Vox was too delicious to delay, but Alastor bided his time, let the scheme marinate. After all, it would be foolish to jump in without a precise end game in mind.

Vox was predictable, a typical man with a lust for sex nigh as great as his lust for power, if his routine was to be believed. Alastor had to give credit where credit was due--Vox’s picture shows really shone a spotlight on the purest form of entertainment: reality. But his own persona, the television Overlord--producer, director, and sometimes writer, of Hell’s most depraved--was so shellacked, Alastor could see right through him. He was all show, and his greed would be his undoing.

Vox would never make a deal with him outright. He was no fool. But if Alastor offered him the promise of something  _ more,  _ something private and intimate, fooled him into believing that he had won the favor of the ever-solitary radio demon, Vox would be putty in his hands. 

Alastor didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. Well, aside from the fact that seduction was not remotely within the sphere of his modus operandi. But of course, it had been staring him in the face the whole time. Sex held so little interest to him, he dismissed anything to do with it off-hand.

He had considered that Vox’s flirtatious banter might be yet another way to attempt to get under his skin. A paltry attempt, lacking any kind of class or style. Typical Vox. Even as woefully inexperienced as the radio demon was, he would handily show Vox how it was done. A sweeping victory in Vox’s own realm! How delightful.

“That’s all for tonight’s jolly sing along, songbirds,” Alastor crooned into his microphone at his studio. “I’ll be seeing all of you very soon,” he promised with a grin. “Tonight we close the show with a little number for one very special listener. I know you’re tuning in…” Alastor trailed off, then clicked the switchboard over to  [ _ I Ain’t Got Nobody  _ ](https://youtu.be/LRLY0KLSkfM) sung by the indomitable Ruth Etting.

> _ Why are you jealous of me _
> 
> _ You have no reason to be _

Alastor stood up from his desk and felt a kind of electricity on his skin. He had been thinking about this moment for some time, and now it had finally come. To his surprise, he had fantasized about this. Not for the baring of his skin or the lewdness of the act, but for the sheer confusion and shock it would inspire in Vox. He wished he could see the look on his face.

He looked over his shoulder to see his shadow rise from the floor with a grin, camera in hand. The shadow’s dark mouth split open with an eager breath and Alastor straightened his monocle.

“Give me a moment to prepare,” Alastor said lightly.

> _ Where have I given you cause to suspect _
> 
> _ Oh what did I do _

Alastor unbuttoned his coat and slid it from his shoulders and onto the back of the wooden chair behind him. It struck him as strange how electrifying undressing felt when it was for another person. It helped that said other person was not present. It would have been hardly as exciting.

He had been fantasizing about the aesthetic he wanted to present to Vox--what would appeal to his base desires. How much skin should he show? How little?

For this first shot, he thought he should play it coy. Leave him wanting more, and all that. He loosened his bow tie with jittery hands and had to chuckle at his own nerves.

> _ I’m with you most of the night _
> 
> _ I’m never out of your sight _

Alastor found himself crooning along to the platter playing on the station. After all, tonight had been his singing show, when he sang the greats over an instrumental background. It was a pleasant change of pace to break up all the hard work he did to show his dominance over Hell. A little  _ classic  _ radio.

> _ You know _
> 
> _ I ain’t got nobody _

He had picked the song with care. He may not have had the wherewithal to court Vox with words, but the canaries most familiar to him had come up with a myriad way to tell a fella how she felt about him.

> _ And I don’t want nobody but you _
> 
> _ You, you _

The words formed dark and thick on his tongue as he slid his suspenders from his shoulders.  _ Yes, you, Vox,  _ he thought,  _ nobody but you. _

> _ I’d have my hands full of trouble if I started to double cross you _
> 
> _ I ain’t gonna trifle and I don’t wanna trifle that’s true _
> 
> _ True, true _

Yes, let Vox think that he was wary of him, Alastor thought as he began to unbutton his shirt. It gave him a little thrill to undress in his very own radio studio. He had done so before, but only because he was drenched in blood. Now, as he loosened his starch-clean shirt, he was struck by a different feeling all together. He was thrumming with power, eager to exert this weapon against his greatest enemy. Oh, how he would come undone…

> _ So if you see me _
> 
> _ Talking to anyone  _
> 
> _ Walking with anyone _
> 
> _ Now, believe me _
> 
> _ It’s strictly business _
> 
> _ And how _

Was Vox the jealous type? Surely part of his power trip was feeling  _ ownership  _ over the things he considered his. It would drive him wild to see Alastor continue on about his usual routine after sending him such a strange calling card, not knowing whether or not Alastor was  _ his. _

> _ And let me tell you _
> 
> _ I don’t do to others what I don’t want the other to do _
> 
> _ Do do _
> 
> _ No no _
> 
> _ I ain’t got nobody and I don’t want nobody but you _

Alastor considered his sleeves, then unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled them up to his elbows. The shadow behind him let out a bored hiss and Alastor shot it a look over his shoulder. The shadow suddenly grinned and snapped a quick photograph.

Alastor raised a brow. “Good?” he asked. The shadow nodded, a giggle-like rasp scratching from the dark recesses of its being. Alastor grinned and adjusted his shirt, peeling the front open so that the collar sagged and exposed the back of his neck.

He stayed with his back to the camera, allowing a rare glimpse not only at his bare neck and shoulders, but the oft-hidden fluff of his tail just above the waistband of his slacks. With a smirk, Alastor held his microphone staff, his head tilted just-so, a glance of acknowledgement at the camera.

With each snap of the camera, Alastor felt bolder. Oh, how he would tempt Vox. The television demon would walk ever so willingly into his trap. But only if Alastor continued to bide his time and mete out his subtle courtship gradually. He stopped himself before he could get too carried away--after all, this was only the beginning.

“That will be all,” Alastor told his shadow as he turned and began reaffixing his shirt. Once it was buttoned back to the collar, he smoothed the front down and suppressed a little shiver. His brow narrowed as he felt a most bizarre sensation--arousal?

Chuckling to himself, Alastor strode forward and caught the camera in his hand as his shadow slithered back into the ether.

Now, to send his little present to Vox…

Vox sat at his control center, bathed in the neon glow of a multitude of screens that fanned out around him like a great digital cyclone. He was enjoying his usual late night dose of television--a mixture of surveillance absorbing various turf wars and shady deals, some curated programming transposed with moment-by-moment ratings, and a bit of pornography playing in the background.

Vox spent so much of his time surrounded by people--co-conspirators, business partners, toadies, desperate stars, and even more desperate writers--that he treasured the seclusion of his late nights alone at the television station.

He unwound from a long day by listening to Alastor’s sing along show. The antiquated music was tolerable when sung by that smoke-and-chaos voice. He didn’t listen because he enjoyed it, but because one could never be sure what the radio demon might slip out between his cheesy music and murder sprees. Alastor may have been too old and behind the times to be any real threat, but he was a curious study in determination and pure hedonism.

His sign off had piqued Vox’s interest. Was Alastor calling him out?

> _ I’m with you most of the night _
> 
> _ I’m never out of your sight _

Of course Alastor was directing this at him. At least Alastor knew where he stood, ever under the watchful eye of his penetrating network.

> _ You know _
> 
> _ I ain’t got nobody _
> 
> _ And I don’t want nobody but you _
> 
> _ You you _

They were similar, but Vox had never heard Alastor admit as much. Maybe the radio demon was finally coming around and realizing that his star was setting. High time he got with the times.

But a love song? Sappy old man.

A sudden noise interrupted the comforting embrace of programming enveloping the TV overlord. He sat up and looked around. What was that noise? He frowned as he stood up, and then it hit him. It was the fax machine. Who the hell used a fax machine??

Vox kept it around as a curiosity, more museum piece than functional machine. He had a penchant for collecting technology through the years. Get the latest gadget, watch it slowly fade obsolescence. His large office was practically walled in with the stuff.

He walked from his control center and followed the hiss-buzz-grind of the fax machine, a lonely little glow in the darkness. Hands on his hips, he waited for the fax to finish printing. Some kind of image. He turned up the brightness on his monitor as he slid the warm, freshly printed page from the tray.

Oh.

His eyes widened.

Alastor?

He glanced around, as if the radio demon might be lurking in the shadows. No, he would feel those antique frequencies.

It wasn’t just any picture of Alastor, not some surveillance cam snapshot. Besides, his surveillance goons wouldn’t use a  _ fax machine. _ Most of them were too young to even know what the hell a fax machine was.

No, this was a personal photograph. Alastor’s back was to the camera, but the lilt of his head, the angle of his gaze, made it obvious he was well aware of being photographed. If this was meant to be a threat, it sure was a bizarre one. Alastor had his neck exposed, the curve from throat to shoulder on display as he held his microphone to his lips.

The static within Vox’s body buzzed and roiled in his gut. What the hell was this?? Alastor looked…  _ seductive. _ That shouldn’t have even been possible. Vox stared harder at the image, ostensibly to suss out whether it was a forgery or some kind of photo-manipulation, but truth be told, he couldn’t look away.

Vox swallowed on a dry throat. It was obvious this was intentional. The radio demon had somehow managed to pump this photograph through the phone lines to get it to him. But what did it  _ mean _ ?

He walked stiffly back toward the control center and slumped into his chair. Alastor was clearly trying to get his attention. The strains of the song Alastor had played at sign off floated back into his mind.

> _ You know _
> 
> _ I ain’t got nobody _
> 
> _ And I don’t want nobody but you _
> 
> _ You you _
> 
> Vox sank back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. The jumble of programs and ratings and distant moans fell away as he stared at the picture. A slow grin began to creep across his screen.

He should have known Alastor would come around. He just hadn’t expected it in such a flashy way. Ever the performer, eh. Interesting. Very interesting. 


	3. That'll Be the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vox confronts Alastor about the little _gift_ he received.

“Hey there, bz--bx-buddy.”

Alastor caught the familiar static buzz of a changing channel in the very air as he walked down the street. It was early morning and the streets of the electric district were blessedly empty, all but for the thousands of vacant-eyed television screens that crowded nigh every storefront. Several of the windows of said storefronts were broken, television sets scattered like broken skulls in the wake of the looting that inevitably happened after a turf war such as the one that had cleared the streets hours ago.

“I got your  _ iz--ix-invitation, _ ” Vox hissed, his voice more mellow over broadcast than it was in person. His face flickered and displayed on screens as Alastor passed by, following him in a technicolor wave of stand-by tests and that glowing neon blue smile.

Alastor’s eyes darted to the screens in the dim storefront; a momentary jolt as the graphic of Vox’s face changed to something else--but it was nothing more than an innocuous-looking letter. The animation played a blank piece of paper coming from an envelope.

Vox chuckled, his mirth displayed in tightly-slitted eyes and a tear of his snowcrash smile. “Don’t worry, bz-bx-buddy.  _ My  _ ex-ez-eyes only.” His eyes roved to follow Alastor as the radio demon waltzed through his territory.

“Where ya goin’, pz-px-pal?” Vox asked. His image leapt to a large display plastered against a tall building on the opposite side of the street, the screen pitted with the impact of projectiles, giving him a broken-toothed smile. “I thought I’d stop by the rx--rz-radio station,” his voice was amplified by the large screen’s speakers, loud enough to be heard clear down the street. His face jumped to a smaller screen to Alastor’s right, singular and intimate as he said more quietly, “Since you sz-sx-so cordially invited me.”

Alastor’s boots clicked as he came to a stop and turned to look at the small facsimile of Vox, amused that this display made Vox much shorter than him. “Invitation?” he mused. “What gave you that impression?”

Vox narrowed an eye at Alastor. “Puttin’ yourself on dz-dx-display like that,” he said with a cocky grin. “Figured you were reconsiderin’ my offer.”

Alastor laughed. “To work with you? No.” He turned on his heel and kept walking, catching but a glimpse of disappointment on the television overlord’s face. That uncertainty gave him the most delightful chills.

“Aww, c’mon, bz-bx-baby,” Vox cooed. His face zipped signal-fast through a variety of screens, then displayed him at his usual height, replete with the image of his sharp-suited frame walking along through the towers of screens, as if he and Alastor were on a stroll together. “Ya send me some sz-sx-saucy pic, n’ then I find you here, wanderin’ around mz-mx-my neighborhood…”

Alastor leveled Vox with a cool stare.

“What’s a guy to think?”

“Do you?” Alastor asked and the two paused, red eyes meeting devil eyes. “Think, that is.”

Vox was silent for a second, then burst out into raucous laughter, flooded by a laugh track that played off every speaker in the vicinity, as oppressive as Alastor’s own frequency. “Damn. You’re cold as ix-iz-ice.”

Alastor’s grin spread across his lips. If he were too willing, Vox would surely see the ploy for what it was. This cat and mouse game--it was rather fun, Alastor had to admit. He fell into it easily. The banter came naturally, and Alastor saw no need to sweeten his words. Not at this juncture. Let his temptations speak for him, until Vox could no longer stand it.

“Shame you didn’t sing that last little number for me,” Vox said in a low, honeyed tone. “Made me think you were finally comin’ around.”

“So you were listening,” Alastor said lightly.

Vox’s grin tugged to one side of his screen. “‘Course, bx-bz-baby. Told you--I’m a big fan.”

“Of my voice?”

One of Vox’s eyes widened. Was Alastor the goddamn Radio Demon actually flirting with him? “Of a lot more than that,” he said warmly. “But--you’re sx-sz-such a tease. That sexy voice is all I can get…” He sighed as if lovelorn. “Then ya send me--”

Alastor twirled his microphone and sent such a wave of concentrated radio frequency that it disrupted Vox’s connection, sending a cascade of snowy static across the screens he was broadcasting to, expression warning.

Vox’s grin glitched in and out of existence, and his voice came out garbled and mangled worse than usual, reedy and thin, “Sz-sx-such ax-a tz-tx-tee-ex-ase…”

Alastor put a finger to his lips.

Vox dissipated in a shower of static, the displays blinking out to a point in the center of every screen. Alastor smirked at his handy dismissal of the insistent television demon. He’d have to keep that trick in mind. If only it worked when the television demon was in his presence.

Just as quickly as the sets had all turned off, they flicked back on--every one in the window of the shop, and the shops adjacent, all the way down the entire block until the red dawn air was pale blue with the incandescence of the screens.

Alastor turned his head to follow the cascade of screens, then settled up on the large screen looming over him. Applause rose from every speaker to a deafening roar as the picture came into focus in warm-fuzzed black and white film: a stage set with [four young men in neat suits](https://youtu.be/9nrInsANB8Q), and a jangling guitar lick.

> _ Well, that’ll be the day when you say goodbye, _
> 
> _ Yes, that'll be the day, when you make me cry ~ _

It was a polite little toe-tapper with a regular beat. Bit too rock-and-roll for Alastor’s tastes, but he couldn’t resist the grin that crept across his lips. Perhaps Vox had a bit more class than he’d given the modern demon credit for.

> _ You say you're gonna leave, you know it's a lie _
> 
> _ 'Cause that'll be the day when I die ~ _

The sound blaring out of every speaker, a cacophony of mixed qualities, made the chipper croon of Buddy Holly’s voice sound off-key and sinister. Alastor could feel it in his bones as he drank in the street-wide broadcast just for him.

> _ Well, you give me all your loving and your turtle doving, _
> 
> _ All your hugs and kisses and your money too ~ _
> 
> _ Well, you know you love me baby, until you tell me, maybe _
> 
> _ That some day, well I’ll be through ~ _

Alastor’s message had been received loud and clear. He smiled darkly at the 50’s jive playing before him.

> _ Well, that'll be the day, when you say goodbye _
> 
> _ Yes, that'll be the day, when you make me cry ~ _

Vox was teasing him, he knew. Taunting him that he would never leave Vox alone, even if he dismissed him at every turn. Of course he wouldn’t. The power struggle was real, the balance for dominance. Vox thought he had it all under control. How little he thought of Alastor. How little he realized his own obvious weakness.

> _ You say you're gonna leave, you know it's a lie _
> 
> _ 'Cause that'll be the day when I die ~ _

Alastor continued on down the street, buffeted on all sides by the broadcast. It was a catchy tune, no doubt about it. Alastor found himself humming along.

The words rang true. Alastor would never stop pursuing Vox. Not until the day that he died.


	4. No Good Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, if Vox liked having him on display, if Vox wanted to put on a show for him--Alastor would give him the show of a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter was written in-line with the intent to be able to listened to & read simultaneously. Hope you all enjoy!

Well, if Vox liked having him on display, if Vox wanted to put on a show for him--Alastor would give him the show of a lifetime.

Pentagram City was rife with clubs, most of the despicably modern sort that Alastor would rather see up in flames than ever set foot in. But not every part of Hell had deteriorated into modernization. There were still a few pockets that reflected the good old days Alastor had left behind in his life before.

Alastor found it impossible to pass inconspicuously into any club these days, and while he loved the thrill of fame and notoriety, there were times when he longed for a low profile. In Hell, that was accomplished through favors--money or protection would do the trick.

Alastor had been a long time patron of the Paradis Oriental, a dark little cabaret club with live music around the clock, and show offerings every night. The bourbon and strong black coffee flowed like milk and honey, and the debauchery on display had a modicum of class.

Despite his reticence toward any physical touch and his utter disinterest in sex, Alastor had always enjoyed a good cabaret. The energy was electric, a mixture of skill and sex appeal, comedy and a good brass band. The effect was like a heady red wine, savored and enjoyed leisurely.

But tonight he did not enter the Paradis Oriental through the front door. He thanked the back doorman with a few bills and a cigarillo for entrance; merely a polite gesture, as the hulking demon had looked about two feet tall when the radio demon suddenly darkened his alleyway.

He slipped through the dimly lit back halls, winding his way toward the dressing rooms.

“Hey--this is performers only, pal,” a gruff voice called, his face obscured by shadows.

As if on cue, the flickering bulb above Alastor came to life and lit his scarlet suit in sharp relief, glinting off his sharp smile.

“Oh! It’s you. Alastor, my man, it’s been a while.” 

Alastor tolerated the two-handed clasp of his palm and forearm from the skinny imp. “Roger,” he said warmly. “Too long, I’m afraid.”

“Been keepin’ busy, then?” Roger laughed and withdrew his hand to straighten his suspenders over a button-up shirt that shimmered between red and black in the flickering lights.

“Never a dull moment.”

“Ya need a private table or sommat?” Roger asked. “I got you--not a problem.”

“Actually,” Alastor purred. “I have a proposition for you. Something to… liven things up a bit.”

“Oh, really?” Roger leered up at Alastor with interest. 

“Ladies and gents,” the emcee’s smoky voice wafted over the club. “Have we got a treat for you tonight.” The curtains hung over the stage, obscuring the arrangements being made between acts. “I know, I know, ya’ll came here for sweet little Suxsie, and we’ll get there, don’t you worry. But we got a  _ surprise  _ for you cats.”

The audience was unmoved by the announcement, the susurrus of conversation continuing unabated, some rabble erupting from a rowdy group at the bar.

“All the way from the land of radio, let’s give a warm welcome to our favorite psychopath, our terrifying torturer, _ Don’t-Call-Him-a-Cannibal _ , Alastor, the Radio Demon!”

All activity in the club froze in an instant. It was so quiet, the rasp of curtains being drawn open rattled through the still air. The stage was lit with calm blue lights, accented by shots of pink from behind the band. Alastor was the only corporeal demon on stage, the rest mere shadows, echoes of lost souls now under his control.

Alastor sat at a stand-up piano, his black-gloved claws poised elegantly above the ivories, dressed in a sharp scarlet suit, a high-waisted, formal cut above his usual attire. He gave the shocked audience a tip of his top-hat.

As if compelled by the gesture, the audience began to clap. The sound stuttered, fearful and uncertain around the room. Even in his brief glance, Alastor saw that more than one of Vox’s television-headed goons were in attendance, screens dimmed but the static disturbance of them unmistakable in the crowd.

The band started up the overture, and Alastor quelled his annoyance at the other, smaller screens he saw begin to light up around the club. How he hated modern technology, these little phone-computers that every demon had themself glued to. But--tonight, it was to his advantage. After all, he had not advertised his ‘impromptu’ show, and he wanted to make sure Vox didn’t miss a moment of it.

_ smt goin down rn @ paradiso _

Vox glanced at the text and sneered at how vague the message was. He wasn’t even going to bother responding to such crap. Then he got a picture.

Alastor. Of course. Vox squinted at his phone screen. It looked like he was on some kind of stage, all lit up in blue that made his red suit look almost black.

Paradiso. There were so many different takes on ‘Paradise’ clubs in this fucking town, it took him a few irritable minutes to narrow down which one his agent meant. Paradiso Oriental. Not in his jurisdiction--well, not geographically. Of course it was under his domain. There wasn’t a place in Hell that wasn’t under his domain. (Well, he refused to admit there wasn’t any place in Hell that he didn’t touch, but there were a few key places he had never penetrated--though not for lack of trying. One being Lucifer’s mansion, the others being the places Alastor had set up all sorts of freaky voodoo sigils over--the radio station, and Alastor’s personal residence.)

Vox pulled up his standard feeds. All surveillance footage was circumvented right into the TV tower before it went anywhere else. “Hah. Gotcha.” He had three angles on the club, through one of which he spotted where his men were in the audience. With a grin, he pulled up their streams, then sat back to watch the show.

[The horns crooned and the strings sang](https://youtu.be/sgWzrICtgwQ) as Alastor played along, fingers dancing over the keys. The tension in the air was addictive, so much more thrilling to be before a live audience.

Just as the audience was beginning to be lulled into the steady number, Alastor lifted his fingers from the keys. The piano continued to play itself as he turned on the bench toward the pit. With a flick of his wrist, his microphone appeared in his hand.

“ _ No good man… _ ” Alastor sang above the sedate tap of a high-hat. “ _ Lovin’ all no good things… _ ”

A collective breath was held beyond the stage. Not even a clink of a glass could be heard from the drunkards at the bar, all eyes on the crooning radio demon.

“ _ Never treats me as he should, _ ” Alastor sang deeply as he rose to his feet as if heavy with sorrow. “ _ That ain’t no good… He’s always bringing me down, _ ” Alastor moaned as he leaned against the piano.

The sway of the slow number eased some of the tension, but the audience seemed uncertain what to expect as Alastor began to roll his shoulder in time with the steady beat.

“ _ He’s no saint, _ ” Alastor said as he unbuttoned his jacket. “ _ Heaven knows, _ ” he leered at the crowd and flipped his coat-tail back from his hip, “ _ that’s what he ain’t.” _ With a flick of his eyebrow that sent more than one shiver through the spines of the demons in attendance--unsure whether it was fear or arousal. “ _ Spends his money foolishly, _ ” Alastor tipped his hat as he walked across the stage, “ _ not on me… _ ” His eyelids grew heavy and sad, mugging despair half-hidden by his lowered brim.  _ “I’m the one who gets the run around… _ ” With a flick of his wrist, he tossed his hat into the audience.

“ _ I oughta hate him… _ ”

Vox smirked. He was not much for this kind of crooning, but he was transfixed by the sight of the radio demon on stage. There was his natural magnetism, yes--but there was  _ more. _

“ _... and yet I love~ him so~” _

Vox felt a short circuit twinge down his spine as Alastor hit that note, and the look that Alastor turned to the camera--the very feed Vox was watching--went right through him like a bolt. He had always known of Alastor’s power, but this was…

“ _ For I require… _ ”

Alastor looked coyly at the stage as he step-stepped to the tune of strings. Then his eyes shot up to deliver the next line,

“ _ Love that’s made of  _ **_fire_ ** _ ~” _

With a snap, Alastor’s coat ignited in flame and burned away in an instant, leaving his button-up shirt unscathed. The radio demon rolled his shoulders as his arms wrapped around himself.

“ _ And in his arms I find, I always get that kind,”  _ Alastor purred, arching his neck to the pluck of strings, “ _ No good man~” _

“ _ Ever since the world began, _ ” Alastor gestured broadly and swayed his hips as he circled the stage, “ _ There’ve been other fools like me… _ ” His hand came to his chest, then slid up to his throat, “ _ Born to be… _ ” He worked the tie loose to the beat of the high-hat and tilted his head toward the screens he knew were watching him as he slid it free. “ _ In love… with a no good man. _ ”

“ _ I~... oughta hate him, _ ” Alastor sang as he ran his hand down his throat and the vacant space where his bow-tie had been as he walked in time to the beat toward the piano bench. “ _ And yet I love~ him so~. _ ” He sat himself languidly on the bench and arched his back into the crooning notes, slowly sliding himself onto his back.

“ _ For I require… _ ” he breathed, letting his head loll toward the audience--toward his one, singular target, red eyes heady with performed desire. “ _ A love~ that’s… made of  _ **_fire_ ** _ ~ _ ” With another snap, his trousers erupted into flame and burned away. Exposed were tall black stockings that ended in smart tap shoes. “ _ And in his arms I find, _ ” Alastor sang as he tilted his head back, “ _ I always get that kind! _ ” His black stocking-clad thighs slowly rose and slid together temptingly, garters pressed tight to his flesh. With a sigh, he sang, “ _ No good man… _ ” and let his body slide limp against the bench.

His arm hung limp, barely bringing the microphone to his down-turned lips. “ _ Ever since the world began…. _ ” As if drawing up the last of his strength, Alastor began to slowly arch up from his reclined pose, “ _ There’s been other fools like me… _ ” He turned his head with a tortured look, “ _ Born to be… _ ” His thighs pressed together as he cradled the microphone in both hands. “ _ In love~ _ ” he sang, his chest swelling and lifting with the note, “ _ with a no good~ man~ _ ” With the last dwindling notes, Alastor ran a hand slowly from knee up his thigh, parting his legs indulgently.

As a flute trilled sadly, Alastor smiled at the shocked audience. He enjoyed the denouement of the song with a delicate cross of his legs, then bowed.


	5. He's No Saint, Heaven Knows That's What He Ain't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stunned by Alastor's performance, Vox decides to call his bluff. Alastor is pleasantly surprised to find a certain TV demon come to his "rescue."

The curtains closed and Vox cursed loudly. “FUCK.” He stared with the same silence as the stunned crowd in the venue, then asked the question that was on every blown mind, “What the fuck was that?”

The electricity pooling between his legs was no surprise, but the pounding of his heart arrested his torso in tense discomfort. What was this game? Alastor--the  _ radio  _ demon--had just put himself on display before an audience--scratch that, before  _ all  _ of Hell, knowing that Vox would be watching.

“Cut the feed,” Vox snapped. “CUT THE FEED,” he shouted. “If I cx-cz-catch any of you broadcasting that, I’ll have yx-yz-your FZ-FX-FUCKING nz-nx--nuts for dinner!” he boomed over every available channel.

The next few things happened very fast: Vox stripped the performance from every feed, every camera, every television screen; he backed up and saved the feed from every angle and locked it deep into every private drive on his server, including the black box affixed to his spine; then he deleted every last trace from public existence. Some TV-headed goons would find themselves very confused as the last five minutes of their memory had suddenly been ripped from their banks.

All the while, over the live feed, Vox heard a roar of applause. The audience had gone from shocked silence to roaring approval, whistling and shouting for more. The room was being flooded as news of the radio demon’s performance spread, opportunists clambering to see what was blowing up over social media. The pictures that were being passed around were not much to look at--every shot of the radio demon caught him distorted and blurred.

> _ I oughta hate him… and yet I love~ him so~ _

Alastor’s voice echoed in his head as he stared at the drawn curtain over the stage. Was there more? There had to be more. He didn’t think it was possible for him to salivate, but he felt an ache in his throat.

Just what was Alastor doing? Was he trying to lure him into some trap? At their last interaction, he felt like he had called Alastor’s bluff for what it was--stupid posturing, some attempt to catch him off guard. He expected Alastor’s clumsy attempts at… whatever he was doing to sizzle out. The radio demon obviously didn’t have a clue about sensuality much less sex appeal.

But  _ that. _ The way Alastor had moved his body, smooth and feline, as if he were a completely different creature, the timbre of his voice, smokey and wanton… Vox was left reeling. There was no mistake that Alastor was targeting him specifically. Why else would he allow all those screens to capture him? The radio demon had always taken every precaution to only be seen when he was willing to be seen.

This time he had  _ wanted  _ to be seen.

Vox steeled himself. So, this was the game Alastor wanted to play? Well, if he was going to up the ante, Vox would call. Alastor couldn’t keep bluffing himself out of this. Oh, the radio demon was in for a world of trouble if he thought he could outdo him.

“M-Mr. Radio Demon?” a timid voice said from the wings. A gaggle of starry-eyed performers in glittering jeweled corsets leaned out from behind the curtains.

Alastor had redressed himself with a snap and was humming as he summoned his shadows back into his microphone. He raised a brow at the girls. “Yes, my dears?” he asked smoothly, smothering the thrill rattling in his chest.

“That was somethin’ else!” one of the girls gasped. “Could… could we get your autograph?” she gushed.

“Why, of course,” Alastor chuckled. “I do so appreciate you allowing me to take your slot in tonight’s entertainment.” He summoned a pen with a flick of his wrist and the girls rushed forward with old menus, napkins, sheets of music, anything they could get their hands on.

“I didn’t know youse did cabaret,” one of the girls said, emboldened by Alastor’s surprisingly warm demeanor.

“Yeah, you really had ‘em, Mr. Radio Demon,” another said in admiration.

“I learned everything I know from dolls like you, darling,” Alastor said sweetly. Perhaps he had not given himself enough credit, he thought, as he watched their rouged cheeks grow darker and their eyes shine as they giggled.

“Now, I regret I can’t stay and watch your number. I must make a quiet exit,” Alastor said, putting a finger to his lips. “Break a leg,” he encouraged.

“Thanks, Mr. Radio Demon!” one of the girls cried eagerly.

Alastor strode backstage to the chorus of squeals and whispers from the excited performers. He thanked Roger once more, who seemed to look at him with a new appreciation, just as shell-shocked as the rest of the club. Alastor politely refused his offers of free drinks, a private booth, the whole mezzanine, insisting that he had only come for a quick little romp on the stage.

As Alastor walked the restricted halls toward the back door he had come in from, he noted the volume of the club had increased ten-fold. Well, he would have to hope he hadn’t been  _ too  _ successful and ruined his favorite intimate little club. On the other hand, he was sure that the management would well remember his little boost to the clientele for months to come and trip over themselves to ensure his patronage and privacy.

He hadn’t realized just how warm he felt after his performance until the stale air outdoors hit him. He gave a nod to the doorman, but ignored the cocktail waitresses smoking by a dumpster. Ahh, how he had missed the stage. It had been a veritable age since he had performed before an audience in such a way. He felt like dancing, thrumming with anticipation of how Vox would take his performance. It would be very telling how greedy Vox was with this little treat…

Alastor nearly bumped into a tall, well-dressed demon as two left arms suddenly blocked his path. He really must have had his head in the clouds, he admonished himself good-naturedly.

“Excuse me,” he said politely, peering up. The politeness drained from his expression as he saw the four leering, slitted yellow eyes that gazed down at him from a stubbled face.

“No need ta excuse yaself,” the demon drawled. “Yer just the fella I was lookin’ for.”

Alastor did not care for this man’s tone at all, but indulged him for the time being. A little further entertainment more along the lines of his usual modus operandi wouldn’t be unwelcome, albeit it would change the lovely mood he was in.

“It’s no wonder ya keep yourself locked up in that radio tower,” the man purred. “Pretty little thing like you.” The shadows darkened between them, but the demon didn’t seem to notice. “Sad little song you sang. You deserve better than a no good man.”

A hum of static sizzled through the air, but stopped short. Alastor’s grin brightened as he saw yet another shadow looming behind the demon.

“I’d treat ya right. The night’s still young--” The demon slathering his ineffective charm over the radio demon was stopped short as his skull was crushed into the wall by sharp, neon-blue talons.

“Too bz-bx-bad his  _ nx-nz--no good man  _ keeps comin’ around,” Vox growled.

The demon gurgled in pain, yellow eyes wide with fear.

“Like a bad penny,” Alastor said pleasantly.

“This guy bz-bz-bothering you, babe?” Vox asked playfully, though his voice was low and scratched through with static. The red and blue of his pinstripes glowed dangerously in the dark alley.

The demon tried to shake his head, but only found his skull crushed further. The brick started to crumble as his bones cracked under the strain.

“I have no idea who this fellow is.”

“So ya don’t mind if I ez-ex-end his sad little life?”

“Be my guest,” Alastor preened. “By all means.”

Vox’s claws dug into the demon’s scalp and sent a current rocketing through his body. The current was so strong it electrified his entire frame, glittering with blue sparks as he convulsed. Vox dragged his face against the brick wall, grated his flesh like cheese, and then threw his body to the ground, limp as a ragdoll.

Alastor watched with interest. He hadn’t actually seen Vox in action more than a handful of times. The radio demon was of the opinion that Vox wasn’t much of a fighter since so much of his power came from media control--and not the same fear-based brand of his own. But he was intrigued to see Vox’s thirst for violence rear its head.

“Hmm…” Alastor hummed thoughtfully as Vox slowly finished crushing the demon’s head with his bootheel. “Did you come to defend my honor, or… was there something else?” he asked nonchalantly.

Vox dragged the demon’s face into a smear on the ground, then looked up at Alastor. “ _ You’re  _ something else, you know that?” he laughed.

“So I’ve been told.”

Vox was amazed at that composure. How was this the same demon that had just performed a sultry number on stage just to catch his attention? He narrowed his eyes as Alastor and took a step closer as he slid his hands into his pockets.

“Babe,” he said warmly. “Why ya gz-gx-gotta say all those mean things about me?” he asked sweetly.

“You are a no good man, Vox,” Alastor said in a low voice, and witnessed the effect it had on the television demon. His shoulders gave a little twitch as Alastor had said his name, and there was a curious widening of an eye as Alastor confirmed that the song had, indeed, been for him.

“You wz-wx-want me to be good?” Vox asked, leaning toward Alastor. “I thought you liked a  _ nz--nx-no good man. _ ”

The radio demon tensed as that screen loomed over him, glaring off his monocle. The hair on the back of his neck prickled at Vox’s tone. It wasn’t like the jeering, crude tone he’d used when flirting with him before. It was smooth, and from this close, sounded almost human.

“Are there any good men in Hell?” Alastor mused.

“I can be gz-gx-good for you,” Vox teased with a grin.

“Are you propositioning me?” Alastor asked.

Vox saw the irritated quirk of Alastor’s brow. Fucker was totally bluffing. But he could play this game better. “Nah, babe. Just thought I’d offer ya a lz-lx--lift.” He straightened and gestured over his shoulder with a thumb toward a gleaming black Cadillac limo, the windows an impenetrable neon blue. “You’re gonna have a helluva time gz-gx-gettin’ outta here.” He shifted his weight and turned to reveal the crowded street past the alleyway, a veritable riot trying to squeeze in the doors of the Paradiso Oriental.

Alastor considered the offer in light of the circumstances. It would prove to his advantage to give Vox a little. A bit of progression, a hint of his supposed willingness. And, truth be told, it  _ would  _ be convenient to avoid a mass of his adoring fans.

“Perhaps there are good men in Hell,” Alastor said lightly.

Vox grinned, then turned his screen to deliver a sharp, sound-byte whistle. Suddenly a troupe of black-suited, television-headed goons crawled out of the brickwork and formed a demon barricade between the limo and the crowd.

As TV overlord and radio demon walked together, Vox dipped his screen toward Alastor to say, “I’ll do ya one bz-bx-better.” 

Vox opened the limo door for Alastor like a gentleman, and the radio demon couldn’t help but enjoy seeing Vox  _ doting  _ on him. Oh, his plan was working  _ so  _ much better than expected. “Oh?” he asked as he slid into the sleek black leather interior.

Vox gripped the top of the limo as he folded his tall frame and cumbersome monitor through the doorway, composing himself with surprising grace beside Alastor. With a snap, the door shut and the interior glowed with a shade of neon blue Alastor found unpleasant.

“I wz-wx-wiped the tapes,” Vox told Alastor with a supremely self-satisfied smirk.

“You what?” Alastor asked, brow creasing uncertainly. He could never presume to understand what Vox was talking about when it came to his picture shows and technology.

Vox stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankle. “Erased ‘em. Poof. Iz-ix-it’s like it never happened.”

Alastor felt a flutter in his chest. Excitement. Vox  _ was  _ a jealous man, wasn’t he? The radio demon had  _ known  _ Vox would do this. Well, he had planned on it. He was thrilled to see his plan come to fruition.

“How thoughtful,” Alastor purred. He allowed his elbow to rest on the curve of the edge of the leather seat, tilting his chin into his hand. “To protect my dignity?” he teased. “Or… because you want to keep it all for yourself?”

Vox snorted at the mention of Alastor’s dignity. He was prepared to tell Alastor exactly why he had scrubbed the performance off the record--but he was not prepared to hear Alastor suggest the very same thing. The balance of control tipped in Alastor’s favor for a moment, catching him momentarily off guard.

“It was fz-fx-for mx--mz-me, wasn’t it?” Vox recovered smoothly. “You know, babe,” he said as he stretched an arm over the back of Alastor’s seat to lean toward him. “Ya really oughta think about sx-sz--sendin’ me these kinda things more privately.” Vox’s fingers brushed a strand of Alastor’s hair into place. “Unless ya really  _ wx--wz-want  _ the whole world to know how bad ya got it for me…”

Alastor tensed as Vox’s fingers grazed his hair, and Vox knew he’d won. The radio demon thought he could win at  _ his  _ game. This was a fucking laugh riot.

“Did you have something in mind?” Alastor asked without missing a beat. “You know how woefully ignorant I am when it comes to your… modern technology.” He managed to bite back the disgust in his voice, but as close as they were, there was no hiding the disdain in his heavy-lidded gaze.

Vox felt the bluff slipping through his fingers. There was still fight in Alastor’s warm tone, but no threat. If anything, there was an offer in those words. “I’ll think a’ something,” he said, his usual bravado gone for a moment as those red eyes stared up at him, that smile just for him. He’d never been alone with Alastor like this, no one watching, no dance for dominance to perform for anyone but each other.

“Somethin’ even an old rz-rx--relic like you can manage,” he snapped back with a smirk, falling back into familiar, taunting territory.

The limo crawled to a stop and Vox sat back to look out the window. They had already reached Alastor’s residence, and Vox found a laundry list of lines from sitcoms and romantic comedies flitting through his database, something to extend this interaction. Before he could divine the right one, Alastor was opening the door.

“I eagerly await your gift,” Alastor said as he turned to step out of the car. “You have my utmost gratitude for the lift.” He stood, then turned to lean down into the car. “And the  _ daring  _ rescue from that unsavory gentleman.” Alastor lifted his hand to his lips and blew Vox a kiss. “Good evening, Vox.” With that, he turned and walked to the gate around his front garden.

The door shut in Alastor’s wake, leaving a very disgruntled TV overlord sitting alone in the back of the limo, wondering what in the nine circles had just happened.


	6. Dream a Little Dream of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vox provides Alastor with a gift to facilitate _private_ communication. Alastor makes _titillating_ use of it immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter includes some mature content.**
> 
> The song flavor for this chapter is ["Dream a Little Dream of Me"](https://youtu.be/zz4Et_XUMiI) by Mama Cass of The Mamas and the Papas.

Alastor did, genuinely, eagerly await Vox’s gift. The television demon had been veritable putty in his hands that night. He was playing the game, but so far out of his league. He was under Alastor’s spell, and didn’t even realize it. He would be frogboiled into a deal before it even dawned on him that he was in a pot at all.

A moment from that night stuck out to him--he had almost jeopardized the game when Vox came too close. This was an aspect of his plot that he would be forced to confront. Was he willing to go that far? Would he actually allow Vox to touch him? Even… be intimate with him?

The consideration was purely academic. Alastor had no desire for Vox--well, perhaps that wasn’t strictly true. He desired Vox’s vulnerability to him. He desired having control over the overlord. In that light, Vox’s physical affection was the next logical goal. It would be proof that he was falling into Alastor’s trap. Sex was part and parcel of his victory.

It was so curious to Alastor the things that men would do for the promise of sex. Vox had “rescued” him, to protect that possibility for himself. The television-headed fool had acted the gentleman, played the game and cooled his loins to follow Alastor’s lead, acting against his own base desires and instinctive animosity. He had even offered to give him a gift. Vox had changed his very nature to better suit Alastor.

How men could so easily be made into fools amused Alastor to no end. He was addicted to that amusement, eager to chase the next high. To feel Vox’s desire would cinch his victory--and that thought _excited_ him. It thrilled him in unexpected ways, woke some strange brand of arousal of his own. Not for Vox, not for his body, but for his failure, for his utter surrender.

This hunger emboldened him. He had upped the ante, teased Vox with more of his bare flesh, and it had proved extremely effective. He so looked forward to seeing Vox unravel, utterly lose his mind when he saw what was in store for him.

Alastor returned from a brisk killing spree to find a package waiting on his doorstep.The modest box was wrapped like a present in black paper that glittered with blue circuitry. He picked up the box in blood-soaked hands and grinned a viscera-splattered grin, thrumming with the runner’s high from his recent carnage.

Alastor unwrapped the package at his kitchen table, and the box opened itself, split at the seams like a flower blossoming. A card rose into the air above the gift, black-on-black. Alastor jerked in revulsion as an image of Vox suddenly appeared on the card. The television demon was seated in a sleek, modern desk chair, leaning against the arm with his trademark grin.

“Az-ax--as promised,” the video-card played, “a gift for you. I dx-dz-didn’t think you’d go for a cellphone,” Vox chuckled. “So I went back in the az-ax-archives to pull out this relic. A relic for a relic,” he said with a charming smirk.

Alastor looked at the strange device that sat on his table. Despite coming from an era decades after his death, Alastor had to give the machine some credit for not being so insufferable and slick as the sharp edges of current technology. It was a squat little gray thing, about the size of a breadbox, with a modest, round-edged screen, the casing elongated to allow for the transistors and self-contained power supply.

“It’s portable, but bx-bz-big enough even _you_ couldn’t lose it,” Vox laughed. “Sx-sz-so next time you want to hz-hx--hit me up,” he grinned, “just use this little guy.” Vox folded his neon-blue fingers as he leaned forward. “Be _sz-sx-seein’_ you, Alastor,” he purred. The picture blinked out with a little spark at the center of the card.

Alastor snatched the card out of the air and incinerated it with a twitch of his fingers. He considered the portable television, lips twitching at the very idea that he now had one of Vox’s spies _inside_ his home. Shadowy tendrils manifested and picked the machine up by the handle, cradling it so Alastor could peer into the screen. It appeared dormant and gray.

“It’s cute… for a spy,” Alastor mused as he narrowed his eyes at the screen. He wondered if Vox was watching him at this very moment. Probably. With a smirk, Alastor held out his hands and let the shadows deposit the heavy machine into his palms.

Well, this would make his next move far more interesting for Vox. He whistled to himself as he tucked the portable television under his arm and climbed the stairs.

After putting the television in place, facing the wall in an attempt to keep Vox from ruining the surprise, Alastor began to disrobe. He padded into the en suite and began running the water in his antique claw-footed bathtub, checking it with one hand while he undid the buttons of his shirt with the other.

His whistling drifted up with the rising steam as he plucked a particular bottle from the shelf and poured a generous amount into the tub. With a hum and a snap of his fingers, he switched on the small radio, which picked up the song he had been whistling right where he left off.

The vintage tub was not just an aesthetic choice--a good bath tub was crucial to Alastor. After all, nothing was quite so fine after a long murder spree than a good, hot bath. How better to lift the stench of death from one’s skin than some fine French lavender bubbles?

Alastor glanced at the portable television sitting atop the bath-side shelf and grinned to himself. He intended to show Vox just how much he _enjoyed_ this little portable gift. If Vox was going to peep on him, it would be on Alastor’s terms.

He shed the last of his clothes and shivered with anticipation before he delicately stepped into the scalding water. With an indulgent sigh, Alastor eased himself down into the downy bubbles and sank back. He luxuriated in privacy for a moment, enjoying the familiar tingle of heat seeping into his flesh, and the oils of the fine soap turning his limbs to silk under the water.

Crossing his legs, knees poking through the bubbles, Alastor twirled his fingers to rotate the little television set. It was blessedly quiet for the time being, and Alastor ran damp fingers through his blood-soaked hair. “Hmm… should call you ‘Better Vox.’ So pleasantly silent,” he said to himself.

As if on cue, the screen flickered. For a moment, Alastor thought it might be a trick of the light, but then it hummed so loudly, the whole device rattled on the shelf, and the screen glitched with a test screen.

Alastor chuckled and tilted his cheek into his knuckles, arms resting on the lip of the tub. “So much for subtly.”

Vox, safe and sound in the privacy of his office, had nearly had a heart attack when he checked in on his little ‘present’ to Alastor and found that it had not only been received but immediately put to use. He had intended to just have a peek, and instead got a goddamn eyeful. THIS was the first thing Alastor did with the damn thing?!

As Vox straightened his suit and calmed the breath rattling in his throat, he cursed Alastor. Of course the radio demon knew he would look. He’d set this all up, fully intending to catch Vox spying on him. Well--it wasn’t like he was _really_ spying. He’d given Alastor the damn thing just for this kind of thing. He just hadn’t expected--goddamn that radio demon.

“I sz-sx-see you got my present,” Vox said, his voice small and low out of the little speaker. “Making use of it ax-az-already.”

Alastor could hear the tension in Vox’s voice and his blood-streaked grin widened. “I presumed you wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to peek.”

“Ever the pz-px-performer, Alastor. Giving me a sx-sz-show.” Vox couldn’t see much, but every inch of bare skin was an inch more than he had ever seen. The radio demon looked so different without his vibrant suit and severe collar, and Vox cursed that he had been so indulgent as to give Alastor such an old model. The picture quality was lacking, but the content made up for that. He could see Alastor’s bare shoulders and arms resting languidly on the edge of the tub and the hint of his knees, one calf above the water kissed with bubbles.

“I heard you on the az-ax-air waves, babe,” Vox mused. “Didn’t rz-rx-realize you’d be so eager to open my present.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from those bloodstained lips. “So, this is what the all-powerful Rx-rz-radio Demon does after tx-tz-terrorizing the masses...”

“What were you expecting?” Alastor asked as he ran his fingers over the dried blood on his cheek, following the streak over his lip idly.

Vox steeled himself as a shiver ran down his spine. “Somethin’ a lz-lx-little bit more sz-sx-sinister than a bubble bath,” he admitted.

“There is so little you know about me,” Alastor replied. “Despite your _penetrating_ spy network.” He gave the screen a sharp look, but was robbed of seeing Vox’s expression. (Silently gulping at the way the word ‘penetrating’ rolled off Alastor’s lips.) “What better denouement from an invigorating, violent sprint than a good soak?”

“‘Fraid I wouldn’t kz-kx-know.” Vox couldn’t stop himself from just talking, keeping the dialog going. There was a fifty-fifty chance that their words would turn barbed and combative, but based on this new side of Alastor he had been exposed to, this private side of Alastor, he found his lips loose and compliant to seek out more. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

“More’s the pity,” Alastor sighed as he sank deeper into the tub with a look of utter contentment. “Baths are a time for…” he dipped his fingers over the edge, swirling a bubbly cloud around his fingers, “... contemplation.”

“Contemplation, hz-hx-huh?” Vox laughed. “Maybe I oughta get ta know you better.”

“I fear you would find my company terribly boring…” Alastor sighed with affected disappointment, “for a modern man like you.”

Before Vox could lay on the charm, he was struck still as Alastor’s chest arched from the water and his head tipped back. The TV demon bit back an unsightly sound as he stared at the curve of Alastor’s bare, exposed throat, head tipped back to rinse his hair and ears in the water. Narrow elbows raised as Alastor’s hands ran through his hair, a simple enough gesture, but one that registered as nothing short of erotic to Vox’s mind.

Alastor grinned at Vox’s silence. How easily men were swayed! How simple it was to transform a mundane act into a sensual one! With a thrill, Alastor vocalized his simple pleasure as he lifted his head from the water and slid it to rest on the edge of the tub. He licked his lips as water began to trickle down his cheeks, wetting the blood streaked across his face.

“Hm… bored with my company already?” Alastor prompted, needling at that tense silence.

Vox had pressed a hand between his legs to alleviate the strain of his rock-hard erection, but he quickly moved it away as Alastor spoke again. It proved more distracting than relieving. The juxtaposition of that familiar, casual drawl, part condescension, part temptation, and the utterly alien sight of Alastor naked but modest was crossing his wires and threatened to short circuit his neural network.

“Nah, babe,” Vox said hoarsely. “Was just… dx-dz-doing some contemplatin’ of my own.”

“Oh? That’s a first,” Alastor mused. The water shifted as he lifted a leg, the trickle echoing off the tile as he rested a foot on the far edge of the tub.

Vox smirked. What a bastard. Why did that only turn him on more?? He couldn’t keep on with the game like this. If Alastor was going to play a hand like this, Vox would play his own. Alastor wanted to play like this? Vox wasn’t going to let him keep taunting him from afar. He’d seen how skittish the stupid deer had gotten when he’d actually gotten up in his personal space--same as always. He would see just how cocky Alastor was when the stakes were real, up in his face.

“Ya kz-kx-keep teasin’ me, Al,” Vox said, not hiding the husky quality of his voice. “And then ya tell me I az-ax-ain’t bein’ good to ya. Ya never gave me a cz-cx--chance, babe.”

Alastor’s ears twitched, the only sound in the bathroom the drip of water from his hair into the tub. The timbre of Vox’s voice sent an imperceptible shiver down Alastor’s spine, woke a newfound hunger that clawed low in his belly. Each one of Alastor’s plays had been working up to this moment--when Vox would acknowledge his desire, when he would _invite_ his enemy closer.

“I don’t wx-wz-want you to suffer another night, gz-gx-gettin’ all dressed up and nowhere to go,” Vox said playfully. “Let me be gz-gx-good to you. Wine and dz-dx-dine you.”

Alastor turned his head to downplay the grin that crept across his lips. Oh, Vox, playing right into his hands. It was too delicious. 

“An evening rendezvous between the radio demon and Overlord Vox? Oh, what would the poor sinners think?” Alastor said coyly, allowing Vox to see the breadth of his now-sultry grin.

“Yz-yx-you’re the master of keepin’ a low profile, babe.” Vox grinned. “I know yx-yz-you can pull it off.” He sat back in his chair and watched Alastor with a keen eye. “Or we could _give_ them something to talk about,” he offered in a dangerous tone. He was intrigued by the wicked smile that tugged at Alastor’s lips.

“You get all nz-nx-nice and clean and dressed up for me, baby,” Vox purred as he leaned forward to look closer at the magnificent view of that devilish face. “And you mx-mz-meet me at Dante’s on the ex-ez-east end.”

Alastor loathed the way Vox spoke to him, as if he were some common dame he could tempt with his smooth talk and domineering charm. But it was proof that his scheme was working. It behooved him to play along. And in that sense, his plot was more wildly successful than he had imagined. Reading Vox’s flirtatious tone this way thrilled him. The television demon was blind in his lust.

“Tonight?” Alastor asked.

“Eight.”

“It’s a date, then,” Alastor breathed, barely able to contain his hunger.

Vox grinned to himself. Alastor was really into this. He could see it in those glittering red eyes, heavy-lidded with promise.

“I’ll be sz-sx-seein’ you, Alastor,” Vox said in his usual sign off.

The screen of the portable television flickered and then went dormant, narrowing to a point in the middle of the screen before the light blipped out.

Alastor was thrumming with anticipation. His muscles and limbs tensed and relaxed, and he veritably squirmed in the water. It was only then that he realized just what this intense new development had done to him. He had felt the tension reaching a fever pitch in his core, but had failed to acknowledge that the result was tension of a different kind between his legs. He had been so enthralled in his game with Vox, he found himself aroused.

Playing the part of some sexual creature was well and truly doing odd things to his body. He supposed it was the natural response. It wasn’t as if he was utterly immune to sexual arousal, albeit triggered by far different things than the typical man. Vox hadn’t been completely wrong when he accused Alastor of getting off on murder and violence. Occasionally that “getting off” was sexual in nature, and Alastor would indulge his body’s desires.

Rarely had a _stimulating_ conversation so… well, stimulated him. Why deny the body what it wants? Perhaps a little indulgence in the pleasures of the flesh would better inform him as to how to act with Vox tonight, if this was to be a proper date. He had no intention of, as they say, “putting out” on the first date, but a little taste of some semblance of sexual pleasure couldn’t hurt his performance.

Alastor sank back languidly in the tub and let his shadows do the work. The shadows attached to his being, drenched in the souls of the multitudes he had killed, wrought with some kind of ancient power beyond even Alastor’s own scope, had always been more than eager to alleviate his sexual needs when such an opportunity arose.

His lips parted as his neck arched, the shadowy tendrils almost _too_ eager to slide over his flesh under the water, tugging his legs apart, slithering over his thighs. 

Alastor hummed out a moan as he thought of Vox. He could just imagine the television demon now, shaken and helpless with desire for him. How Vox would bend to his every whim, supplicate himself for the mere chance to have him. Alastor moaned, surprised at how good it felt to fantasize not about some nebulous carnal pleasure, but about a singular target.


	7. Feel Good Inc.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vox is late for a meeting, so Valentino comes to him--not necessarily at the most _opportune_ moment.

Vox may have been acting the part of gentleman. But even a gentleman has needs.

He had given Alastor the illusion of privacy, cut the audio from his end, but by no means had he cut the input from Alastor’s side of his little spy. And boy howdy, he was not disappointed.

Vox had his fly open in under a minute after he had ‘signed off,’ eager to relieve the need that damned radio demon had left him with. 

“Oh,  _ fuck, _ ” Vox swore when Alastor’s shadows began to creep over the edge of the tub like so many tentacles. Alastor used his shadows for  _ that? _ “Jesus Christ,” Vox hissed. 

The door to Vox’s office suddenly burst open, and it was all Vox could do to hit the kill switch on his work station and shove himself as close to his desk as possible. “What the fz-fx-fuck--” Vox shouted.

“Oh, Vox ~” Valentino purred. He stopped short in the doorway and his antennae twitched. The Porn King immediately erupted into laughter. “Hahaha! A little afternoon delight, Vox?” Valentino cried. “Oh, baby, you should have come by the studio. We could’a had our meeting while you auditioned one of my new girls.”

“Fuck.” Vox slammed his screen into the palm of his hand and cringed. “Our meeting.”

Valentino chuckled and swept into Vox’s office, swinging the door shut behind him. “Don’t let me interrupt you,” Valentino offered as he glided over to the executive-class sitting area off to one side of Vox’s immense office. He sprawled himself comfortably on one of the black leather couches and pulled out his phone idly. “Carry on.”

Vox scowled at Valentino, then looked mournfully at the multitude of screens before him that had just moments ago shown him the radio demon writhing in pleasure. He couldn’t-- _ wouldn’t _ \--let Valentino be privy to  _ that.  _ Besides, his arousal had all but shriveled up from being interrupted. With a sneer, he tucked himself back into his pants.

Valentino glanced over his phone at Vox as the demon came from around his control center, straightening his jacket with a kind of dense static on his screen that could only be described as blushing.

“Hmmm?” Valentino hummed curiously. “What’s got you ssso worked up?”

“Nz-nx-nothing,” Vox snapped immediately, then sighed. He realized how defensive and suspicious he sounded. “Can’t a gz-gx-guy jack off when the urge strikes?” he muttered as he flopped into a chair near the cockroach.

Valentino narrowed his eyes at Vox. “At the expenssse of missing a meeting?” The Porn King snickered. “It’s not like you,” he said lightly as he turned his attention back to his phone. “You should have sssaid, Vox. Really. Aren’t we friendsss?”

Vox rolled his eyes.

“You hardly ever take any more than a passing interest in my girls. Or my boys, for that matter.” Valentino’s thumb swiped over his screen, the blue glow reflecting off his heart-shaped glasses. “What got you so  _ inssspired  _ you had to rub one out in the middle of the afternoon?”

Vox glared at Valentino and lunged for his phone, snatching it out of the pimp’s hands. “Are yz-yx-you looking for my dz-dx-damn search history, Valentino? Fz-fx-fuck you.” The TV overlord sent a nasty little shock through Valentino’s phone, rendering it temporarily dead, and then tossed it onto the low glass table near their chairs.

Valentino arched a brow at Vox. “Well, well, well. This  _ is  _ interesting,” he mused, barely able to contain his amusement. “You haven’t even been logged into any of my sites since last night.”

Vox hated that Valentino had the logs so well organized that he could track usage at the flick of his fingers. It had been part of their whole set-up, their stampede to take over all of new media.

“Does this have something to do with that broadcast you stripped from the records last night?” Valentino asked innocently, inspecting his claws idly.

“Wz-wx-why would you think that?” Vox asked, adjusting his disgruntled expression into a smirking mask.

“Seemsss… odd.” Valentino tilted his head toward Vox. “Vox, baby, you don’t gotta hide anything from me. I’m your pal. I’m here to fulfill all your wildest dreams. You know that.”

Vox’s grin eased a fraction. That much was true. Valentino might even get it. But Vox didn’t want to share. This thing between him and Alastor--that was  _ their  _ business. And if Val got involved, he’d wanna see everything. And Vox was not about to let anyone else see that.

“You know I don’t care what kinda fucked up shit you’re into. I’m into fucked up shit, baby. That’s why we get along,” Valentino insisted. “Why don’t you tell Daddy Val what your little digital heart desires, and I’ll get it for ya so you’re not jackin’ off behind your computer like a kid. We’re  _ men,  _ Vox. We get what we want.”

“Don’t you worry,  _ Dz-dx-daddy  _ Val,” Vox teased. “I’m gz-gx-gonna get what I want.” He grinned wide, sinister and stretching across his screen.

Valentino raised a brow at him. “Why you bein’ so shy with me, Vox?” The pimp chuckled and folded his hands in his lap, though his fingers itched without his phone to check and fiddle with. “You know I hear things,” he murmured slyly.

“Ahuh. And jz-jx-just what did you hear on the sz-sx-streets, pal?”

“I heard the Radio Demon made a rare, one-of-a-kind performance last night.”

Vox shifted in his seat, stretched his shoulders back as he tilted his head.

“Did you hear about that?”

Vox snorted. “‘Course I hz-hx-heard about that.”

“From my sources, seems to me that was the footage that was stripped.” Valentino tilted his head at Vox. For having a screen that could broadcast anything at all, Vox sure was transparent sometimes. “I only know one demon with that kind of power--”

“Ax-az--alright, Val. Yeah, I stripped the footage,” Vox snapped.

Valentino narrowed his eyes as Vox. “Why would you do that, hmm?” The cockroach sank deeper into the couch, propping his boots up on the nearby table. “You finally get that  _ partnership  _ you been dyin’ to get your hands on?”

Vox laughed. “Don’t make it sound so dz-dx-desperate,” he sneered.

Valentino noted the conspicuous lack of denial of his accusation. “Ssso you are--”

“Alastor seems to have cz-cx-changed his tune,” Vox blustered on, choosing arrogant pride over trying to keep the whole thing under wraps. He could spare just enough information to get Valentino off his back. They were business partners, after all. “He’s been sx-sz-sending me--” Vox stopped short, glitched over his words as he hesitated to say too much.

Valentino sat up and leaned toward Vox. “Ohh~?” he purred. “What has he been sssending you?”

“Pz-px-proposals,” Vox finished lamely with utmost confidence.

Valentino hissed in amusement, then broke into a snickering laugh that shook his whole skinny frame. “Proposals!” he cackled. “Oh my~” he hissed. “ _ Him,  _ Vox? That’sss what’s got you so worked up?” Valentino broke into a peal of fresh laughter. “Oh, that’s fuckin’ rich.”

Vox’s screen flickered in annoyance, letting off a garbled chatter of channel-noise.

“What is it, Vox? You into redheads? I got redheads, baby. The cute little horns? You just gotta say the word. You like ‘em skinny and fiery?” Valentino goaded Vox, leering at him. “Or… maybe you’re into that shit talk. I got some  _ fine  _ dominatrixes on my payroll--”

“Fuck off, Val,” Vox snapped.

“I’m just tryin’ to give you what you want, baby. ‘Cause you ain’t gettin’ it from that jackass.” Valentino sank back into his seat with a pitying sigh. “Pretty sure he only fucks corpses, pal. Hate to see you end up like that.”

Vox snorted and shook his screen at the notion. “Yz-yx-you tellin’ me you’ve seen him fuck a corpse?” he jeered.

“Nah. I’m just sayin’--never seen him fuck anything alive.”

“Listen,” Vox said. “I’ve got this uz-ux-under control. Hx-hz-he’s practically beggin’ for me,” he boasted.

“Vox, baby,” Valentino said sympathetically. “He’s fucking with you. You’re gettin’ played! Don’t be a sucker.” The pimp sighed and slid his glasses from his face, pulling a zebra-printed cloth from an interior pocket to clean them. “You just let me take you out tonight. I’ll get you sorted. We’ll hit up all the best champagne rooms this side of Pentagram City, get that bullshit outta your system.”

Vox couldn’t deny the possibility. He knew there had to be more to Alastor’s “proposals” than some surface desire. But after what he’d seen--that undeniable  _ hunger  _ in Alastor’s eyes, the way the radio demon acted  _ just  _ for him, no audience, and not twenty minutes ago, he had watched as Alastor  _ pleasured  _ himself after their little back and forth--he refused to just blow it off without seeing it through. He wasn’t an idiot--he’d be on guard. But how could he resist the temptation of that prize?

“I’ve got plans tonight,” Vox said nonchalantly.

Valentino’s chin dropped as he stared at Vox blankly without his signature specs. “Plans?” he hissed, then shoved his glasses back on his face. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me…”

“It’s az-ax-all going according to plan!” Vox said with a flash of his snowcrash grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow me [@vol_ctrl](https://twitter.com/vol_ctrl) on Twitter for more writings and such, and you can check out more awesome art by the artist Kyng at [@kyng_sg](https://twitter.com/kyng_sg)!


	8. Aged and Bitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vox and Alastor have a proper date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This date has multiple chapters adslfknsdf ENJOY)

“Boss, the Radio Demon is in the building--” A TV-headed goon rushed into the dining room that had been entirely emptied for the evening for the purposes of Vox’s “private meeting” with Alastor. 

“I know,” Vox replied in a bored tone, already seated with the redheaded menace at one of the tables.

Alastor smiled all-fangs at the goon over his laced fingers.

The goon looked shaken--whether it was from that smile, or from the fact that the radio demon had somehow snuck past dozens of enforcers in the blink of an eye was unclear.

Vox shot the goon an impatient look, then waved his hand. “What dz-dx-did I say? Buzz off.”

Eager to avoid the violent ire of his boss, the goon wisely hopped-to and darted back out of the door to resume his post and prevent any further disturbances.

“Nz-nx-neat trick, by the way,” Vox said as he turned to Alastor. He then narrowed a brow at the radio demon, “Why dz-dx-don’t you do that all the time?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Alastor replied smoothly. “Hardly sporting, slipping through the shadows unseen.” He chose not to divulge the fact that it did require quite a bit of effort to divest his form entirely into shadow and back again.

Vox chuckled. “And yet,” he sighed, “you az-ax-always hide from me.”

“You make it too easy,” Alastor insisted with a lift of a brow. “I’ll admit, in the beginning, it was an interesting little game. Finding all your new spies around the city, weaving my way around them…” Alastor dragged his finger along the tablecloth, meandering around the fine silverware as if plotting a course. “But you put them in plain sight.” Alastor narrowed his eyes in amusement at Vox.

“That’s the pz-px-point,” Vox said proudly. “Big Brother is watching.” He grinned wide, all static fangs as his screen flickered with an Orwellian propaganda poster that threatened with watching eyes and the words, ‘BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU.’

Alastor laughed. “Bit like killing flies with a sledgehammer,” he mused. “Lacks… subtlety.” He pinched his fingers together precisely.

“Nx-nz-never claimed to be subtle, babe,” Vox purred. “Not my style.”

“Clearly,” Alastor said with a judgemental dip of his brow.

“That’s mz-mx-more  _ your  _ wheelhouse, hm?” Vox mused. “Running killin’ sz-sx-sprees on the daily. Subtle.”

Alastor let out a genuine laugh at that. “Guilty,” he admitted.

Vox was surprised at how cordial Alastor was. Yes, there were still barbs on his tongue, but their back and forth held less venom than usual. “Where are my mz-mx-manners?” he said with a wave of his hand, making a drink cart appear beside their table, laden with fine bottles and crystal decanters. “What’s your px-pz--poison, babe?”

Alastor had to give Vox points for style. The whole set-up was rather classy. An entire dining room just for two, serenaded by a seven-piece playing sedate bossa nova, fine silver and crystal on the table, and, if the smell wafting from the kitchen was to be believed, a gourmet meal to be served. Wined and dined, indeed.

“Campari, to start,” Alastor replied, eyeing the bright red liquor.

Vox swept from his seat to prepare Alastor a glass. “Suits you,” he chuckled.

“Bitter?” Alastor asked with a tilt of his head.

“I wz-wx-was thinking more about the nx-nz-nature of aperitifs.” Vox used a pair of silver tongs to place a couple ice cubes into a glass that glittered in the red-orange glow of the dining room. “Appetite stimulating,” he explained with a grin.

Alastor had never seen this side of Vox. Gone was the crass demeanor, the lewd innuendos, as he performed only for an audience of one. He was so taken by the performance that he didn’t notice he was emitting a thoughtful dead-air of static until the tempo of the quiet drums transitioned into a new number.

“And what does your poison of choice say about you?” Alastor asked as he cut the static hum.

“Me? I’m a mx-mz-man of simple tastes,” Vox said as he finished pouring Alastor a few fingers of campari. “Scotch.” He put down Alastor’s glass and fixed one for himself--a glittering amber scotch, neat.

“Aged and easy to imitate?” Alastor quipped.

Vox laughed, just a hint of that studio audience filling the sound, like a wave crashing and receding. He picked up both drinks and returned to his seat, offering a glass to Alastor. “Burns az-ax-all the way down,” Vox corrected him.

Alastor took his glass with a warning look.

“Tchin tchin,” Vox offered with a raised glass.

“Santé,” Alastor replied and clinked his glass against Vox’s.

Vox noticed Alastor’s gaze drift to the band. The players were not live, there in the room with them, but sophisticated holograms of a variety of well-dressed demons jiving away as a steady, catchy beat. “You seem like the tz-tx-type to jive with bossa nova,” he mused as he raised his glass to his screen.

Alastor was not entirely sure  _ how  _ Vox drank the scotch, but it seemed to go somewhere and not dribble down his screen. “I’ve dabbled,” he replied. “But the audio quality of  _ this, _ ” he gestured toward the facsimile band, “is atrocious.”

Vox frowned. “It’s cz-cx-cutting edge technology,” he argued.

“I  _ know _ ,” Alastor purred with a smug grin. He snapped his fingers and the projection glitched and failed with a smeared note.

Vox could feel the change in the air as Alastor’s shadow darkened and crept along the floor. He followed the shadow back to the small stage, where it split into seven jagged silhouettes. With a snap of Alastor’s fingers, they were all given the same instruments Vox had programmed the projection with. In perfect time, they began to play, picking up the same energetic beat where the hologram had left off.

“Technology will never replace the real thing, my dear digital fellow,” Alastor said pleasantly and took a sip of his campari.

Vox snorted, a little burst of static, and shook his head. “Stubborn bastard,” he sighed, grinning as he sat back in his chair, stretching his legs under the table and he propping an arm on the back of his chair. He tilted his head at Alastor. “You play?” he asked. “Sz-sx-saw you tickling the ivories during your little nx-nz-number at Paradiso.”

“A number of instruments. A few well, and a few not so well,” he replied. He was mindful of the game, ever mindful, but it had been quite some time since he had found himself in such casual conversation. There was always an angle--it was never as straightforward as just talking when it came to two of them--but Alastor found his laser focus softening. After all, this wasn’t some brief affair. He could very well be with the television overlord all night.

“Nx-nz-never was any good with instruments,” Vox admitted. “Can carry a tune, though,” he said lightly and sipped at his scotch.

“Oh?” Alastor asked, genuinely intrigued. “I didn’t know you sang.”

“Play your cards right, get a cx-cz-couple more drinks in me…” Vox leaned toward Alastor, bracing an arm on the table, “... and maybe I’ll sing for you, babe.”

Alastor held his ground, much to Vox’s surprise, and allowed the television demon near. “I’d like to see that,” the radio demon said in a low voice, unable to strip the challenge from his tone.

Vox searched Alastor’s gaze for a moment, wondering at his motives. Before he had time to discern what was lurking in that mysterious, heavy-lidded look, the service door at the back of the dining room swung open. A stiff-backed demon strode over to their table and deposited a plate before Alastor.

“The first course,” the demon said in a quiet, efficient voice. “Prawns braised in a roe fumet.” With a shallow bow, the demon took his leave.

“Roe fumet…” Alastor mused with a curious smile. The smell was absolutely mouthwatering, nostalgic, and the sight of the dark red prawns pleased Alastor’s Cajun soul.

“Dunno what that is,” Vox muttered.

“It is a stock made from the eggs,” Alastor replied automatically, not realizing that Vox hadn’t actually been asking.

Still, the TV demon had to smother the impressed look on his face. He tilted his head, curious to see if the radio demon would enjoy the dish. He had made some requests with the kitchen in regards to the meal.

Alastor was about to crack right into one of the prawns when he realized Vox didn’t have anything before him. “Shall I wait?” he asked, though he was loathe to do so.

Vox waved a hand and indicated Alastor should go ahead.

The radio demon picked the prawn right up off the plate with his fingers and snapped the thing open expertly from the belly. He made quick work of freeing the tasty morsels of meat from the shell. “You’re not having any?” he asked, licking a bit of sauce from his fingers.

Vox was distracted by the sight of Alastor cleaning his fingers--more than meal enough for him. “Ah,” he cleared his throat. “No. Fz-fx-fine company is all the sz-sx-sustenance a gentleman requires,” he said grandly.

Alastor smirked. “Is that a quote from something?” He picked up his fork and used it to scrape the prawn meat through the speckled sauce on the plate.

“A px-pz-production of ‘The Count of Monte Cx-Cz-Cristo,’” Vox supplied. He left out the bit that it was from a version that was set in space and animated.

Alastor could not hide his delight at the taste of the dish. He had expected a good meal given Dante’s reputation and Vox’s obvious desire to impress him, but he had not expected to taste something that reminded him so much of home. The spices were just right, complementing the sweet and the tang of the prawn and roe.

“Taste familiar?” Vox asked, looking pleased with himself.

Alastor stiffened and jabbed his fork a bit too forcefully into the next bite.

“I dx-dz-did my research,” Vox said smugly.

His fork scraped nastily against the plate, like nails on a chalkboard, harsh enough that even the band sounded off-key for a moment. “Busy boy,” Alastor sneered. “How you found the time between your inane picture shows and lewd proclivities to ferret out my palate… You must have had to make such sacrifices,” he rattled off rapidly, only picking up speed, “Stole a few hours away from cozying up with whores, did you? Took a few nights off from your masturbatory broadcasts?”

Vox was blown away by Alastor’s sudden fervor. “Ez-ex-easy there, cowboy,” he said in a placating tone. Alastor’s eyes were glowing, his smile frozen and cold. The television demon smirked, bemused, then barked out a laugh. “Jz-Jx-Jesus, Al. You’re really sz-sx-serious.”

An irritated cloud of radio static buzzed around Alastor. Vox’s laughter only worsened his temper. He was beyond thinking about the game. That invasion of his privacy shot right through his defenses.

“Hey, Al,” Vox said sweetly. He had really gotten under Alastor’s skin. How fucked up was that--he was trying to do something nice, and Alastor had to fly off the handle. “I mx-mz-meant it. ‘Bout gettin’ to kx-kz-know you better,” he implored. “So’s I did a little homework.” He threw up his hands.

Alastor liked having Vox on the defensive, practically cowering before his fury. But that wasn’t the point of this encounter. Not at this stage. He began to lower his hackles, tune down the static rippling from him, and he turned his gaze back to his plate.

“You lx-lz-like it, right?” Vox said in his defense. “Fuckin’ enjoy it, then.” He took a swig of scotch to cool his own irritation that Alastor had summarily told him off for a nice gesture. “And--I won’t do any more peekin’. Alright?”

The delightful flavor of the meal had been soured by Vox’s secret prying, but Alastor returned to it. 

“The catch is,” Vox cut in. Alastor could hear the excitable anger in his sharp tone. “You gx-gz-gotta tell me more about yourself.” The TV demon’s smirk had a nasty lilt to it. “Or--is this just a sz-sx-sex thing?” he pushed on. “If it’s jz-jx-just a sex thing, we can skip the dinner,” he snapped as he lunged forward and grabbed Alastor by the wrist.

Alastor’s mind whirred as Vox turned on him so suddenly. The contact to his wrist did not help his reeling thoughts. He had to smother that fire, get his head back in the game. He couldn’t win without surrendering a little ground.

“Don’t be crass, Vox,” Alastor shot back, his arm stiffly resisting Vox’s pull. “You and I both know this isn’t just a  _ sex  _ thing.”

That caught Vox off guard. His nasty grin cooled a few degrees. His hand snapped open, releasing Alastor’s wrist. “Alright,” he said with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders. “As lz-lx-long as we’re on the same page.”

Alastor rubbed at his wrist, then busied himself with his drink, taking a healthy draw of it. The dry tang cleared his head, and the sizzle of alcohol calmed his nerves. “It’s very good,” he admitted. “I don’t often find good soul food down here.”

Vox was back to patting himself on the back for catering to his date’s tastes. “Now thx-thz-there’s a million dollar idea,” he chuckled. “Get it? Sz-sx-soul food? In Hell?”

“Very clever,” Alastor said with a sardonic smirk.

“What’d’ya sz-sx-say, Alastor?” Vox teased. “Wanna diversify? You seem like you kz-kx-know a thing or two about food. I got the business sense.”

Alastor took another few bites as Vox prattled on. “As much as I enjoy cooking, I wouldn’t want to turn it into my occupation.”

“You cook?” Vox asked, genuinely surprised.

“One of my many talents,” Alastor replied with a smirk.

“Damn. He’s a rz-rx-radio diva, a mz-mx-musician, and he cooks! Color me impressed.” Vox finished off his scotch and slid the glass to the table. “You learn that in your,” he jerked his screen vaguely, “life before?”

Alastor didn’t care for questions about his mortal life, but he’d needled Vox enough over that. “My mother was an excellent cook,” he said. “And I… worked for a time in a kitchen.”

“Huh. I thought you musta been a rz-rx-radio star before you got to Hell.”

Alastor chuckled. “It may come as a surprise to you, but there isn’t a lot of money in radio.”

“True, true.”

“And what of you?” Alastor asked. Tit for tat. This line of questioning could be to his advantage. If he fed Vox little tidbits of his own life, the television overlord would be compelled to return the gesture. “What were you in a former life?” he asked as he finished off the last of his plate.

“Rich,” Vox boasted. “Famous. Had a fz-fx-finger in every pie in Hollywood.”

“Mm, and you were born into that, were you?”

“Nah, I was born into a shithole in Florida.”

“Southern boy,” Alastor purred.

“I wz-wx-wouldn’t exactly call Florida the Sz-Sx-South,” Vox said with a dubious grin. “Not as Southern as say…” He narrowed his eyes at Alastor with a quizzical smile. “Louisiana?”

Alastor acknowledged this guess with a flick of his eyes.

“Figured you weren’t from France. Or Quebec.”

“It was the French that tipped you off?” Alastor asked with interest.

“Coupl’a things,” Vox said with a shrug.

Alastor was dreadfully curious to know just what Vox had managed to glean about him. He had been careful, cultivated a particular public persona, but he could not exist in a vacuum. Perhaps it was his taste in entertainment venues, or his fondness for a specific type of jazz, or that he frequented the one coffee shop in Pentagram City that sold chicory coffee.

The service door swung open and, in the brief lull of silence, the waiter came to retrieve Alastor’s plate.

Before Alastor could craft the right question to ask for this information, Vox came out and told him. “It’s the wx-wz-way you  _ sz-sx-speak  _ French. That’s the tell.” The TV demon’s grin turned sultry. “It’s sexy.”

Alastor wondered where Vox had heard him speak French. Clearly, on a radio broadcast.  _ Hm,  _ he thought to himself,  _ perhaps I do play French tracks from time to time. _ He hadn’t given it much thought. He always played whatever struck his fancy. He hadn’t thought anyone would pay much mind to his accent as he caressed words from one of his mother tongues.

“You fluent?” Vox asked.

“Yes,” Alastor replied, short and to the point.

“Well?” Vox asked. “Say somethin’. Talk Fx-Fz-French to me, baby.  _ See vous plate. _ ”

Alastor cringed as he burst into laughter at Vox’s horrific mangling of the simplest of phrases.

“What?” Vox chuckled. “That bz-bx-bad?”

“Yes. Atrocious,” Alastor replied, wiping at his eyes.

“Well.” Vox sat up and leaned toward the drink cart. “I don’t speak French,” he said as he picked up a bottle, “but I do speak French  _ wine. _ ” He took a corkscrew from the cart and began to open the bottle.

“You’re really taking the wining and dining seriously,” Alastor mused. He hadn’t honestly expected Vox to go through with it. He’d assumed that the “date” was more of a ruse to get him alone, to lure him out of hiding so Vox could get what Alastor had been teasing him with. Even when he’d arrived in the dining room, he presumed the privacy was so that Vox could try and have his way with him. Instead, he found himself presented with honest conversation and a coursed dinner.

Vox glanced up at Alastor and found the most curious expression on the demon’s face. It was somewhere between confused and charmed--an unpracticed, unperformed expression. The TV demon put on a plaster smile designed to channel his natural charm. “Course I am. Nz-nx-not every day my indomitable rival starts broadcastin’  _ special programs  _ jz-jx-just to catch my eye.”

“I didn’t think you  _ could  _ take anything seriously,” Alastor sighed with a playful lilt.

“I’m fz-fx-full a surprises, babe.” Vox grinned and popped the cork. He gestured with the bottle toward Alastor’s empty wine glass.

Alastor caught the stem at the base with two fingers and slid it toward Vox. Much to his chagrin… he was enjoying this. Not just the game, not only the promise of victory, but the minutiae of it. It was like a peculiar kind of slaughter. Yes, the souls reaped at the end was his reward, but the killing was the fun of it. While he looked forward to entrapping Vox into a deal, he found he was actually enjoying the process. Somehow, this was nearly as fun as spitting loaded threats at each other.

“Speaking oz-ox-of…” Vox drawled as he poured Alastor’s glass. “Just wx-wz-what are your intentions, Az-Ax-Al?” Valentino’s warnings lurked in the back of his databases. He didn’t think for a second he would get a straight answer out of Alastor, but it couldn’t hurt to test the waters.

Alastor was surprised by the direct question. He had expected their tango to last all night, for the words to remain unspoken on their lips. “My intentions?” he asked innocently.

Vox filled his own wine glass. “Wz-wx-what? You don’t find it sz-sx-strange that you  _ suddenly  _ had the urge to send me sx-sz-saucy shit?” He put down the bottle of wine and picked up his glass, swirling the scarlet liquid. “What’s your angle?”

Alastor sat back in his chair and picked up his own glass. “Why should I have an angle?” he asked, raising a brow.

Vox laughed. “Very fz-fx-funny.”

“You’re a cocky man, Vox. You don’t think you’ve finally worn me down?” Alastor purred.

“Not for a second,” Vox replied with a dangerous grin.

Alastor chuckled. “I…” he sighed as though it pained him to say, “want you, Vox.”

There were a lot of implications to  _ want. _ The words were simple on the face of things, but underneath there were any manner of things Alastor could mean. Did Alastor  _ want  _ him so that he could control him? Did Alastor  _ want  _ him to secure his own dwindling relevance? Or did Alastor want  _ him,  _ just him?

Before Vox could transform his curious stare into words, the service door swung open again and the waiter strode through the dining room to deposit the next course. “Steak au poivre. A classic,” he said simply, then bowed himself out.

“You’re a man of taste,” Alastor complimented Vox. “I’ve realized this over the years.”

“Here I thought you dx-dz-didn’t like my taste.”

“Oh, I found you quite tasteless in the beginning,” Alastor assured him. “But your picture shows…” he picked up his knife and fork, barely restraining his hunger as the spicy, heady scent of the steak hit him full force, “... hold a certain appeal.”

“Dz-dx-don’t tell me I’ve converted you,” Vox said doubtfully with a smile.

“A lack of interest in sex doesn’t mean a lack of sexuality.”

“Unpack that for me a little, babe,” Vox implored, narrowing his eyes at Alastor.

“Which?” Alastor asked as he began to carve his steak. “The appeal of your picture shows, or my sexuality?”

Vox’s grin widened as he brought his glass toward his digital lips. “Both.”

Alastor found himself adrift in a conversation he had not expected to have with Vox. He could play up to Vox’s pride and laud his dedication to showcasing reality, praise his blunt treatment of life at large. But what of his own sexuality? He had thought Vox the type not to care--so long as he got his dick wet at the end of the night. But here was Vox, lounging back in his chair,  _ listening. _ Not trying to get handsy--the television demon had hardly even threatened the possibility, and when he did so, only to get a rise out of Alastor--and the radio demon found himself  _ drawn  _ to that. He had come prepared for Vox to give into his base desires, but instead the overlord had been nothing but a gentleman, true to his word.

“The, uh, sz-sx-sexuality bit first, as I’m more interested in that,” Vox supplied.

Alastor snapped his eyes to Vox, and the television demon tried to quell his mirth. “I am not swayed by sex for sex’s sake,” he said easily, “unlike poor fools like you.”

“You rz-rx-really don’t know me, do you?” Vox shot back.

Alastor smirked as he brought a bite of steak toward his lips. “How do you mean?” he asked with amusement.

“Why ya thz-thx-think I partnered up with Valentino?” he asked.

“Do tell.”

“He’s  _ in it. _ Thz-thx-that’s not me, babe,” Vox scoffed. “Sex sells. Even yz-yx-you know that.”

“Are you trying to tell me that all the smut is Valentino’s doing? That you’re utterly innocent?”

“Course not,” Vox laughed. “Whz-whx-what I’m sayin’ is,” he said as he leaned toward Alastor, “I enjoy the product, sure. But I ain’t out fuckin’ whores every night like you paint me doin’.”

Alastor took another bite of steak. The wine paired well with it and Alastor felt warm with the pleasantness of a good meal.

“Takes somethin’ sz-sx-special to catch my eye,” Vox said warmly. “Somethin’ like you.”

Alastor cleared his throat. Bit of pepper stuck in there, nothing more. “I find that hard to believe,” he said dryly.

Vox’s eyes widened. “Really?” he asked incredulously, swinging his wine glass wide.

“Really,” Alastor said plainly, eyeing the television demon.

“You jz-jx-just playin’ hard to get?” Vox teased.

“I’ve got you eating out of my hand for the promise of it, don’t I?” Alastor said proudly.

The air hung heavy and thick between them. Alastor realized he had said too much, but he carefully composed his expression to hide it. Vox felt called out and he froze his screen to disguise it.

“You’re a pz-px-piece a work, Al,” Vox said, his frozen screen suddenly coming back to life. “Ya know that?”

Alastor only smiled at the fine steak he was quickly working through.

“Ya rx-rz-remind me of an intern I had once,” Vox said.

“Oh?” Alastor asked, scraping his knife against the plate.

“Real ex-ez-eager kid.” Vox grinned. “Tried tx-tz-to  _ seduce  _ me,” he mused as he took a swig of wine. “Bx-bz-but he never put out,” he said lightly. “Left me wx-wz-wondering if I just read into the whole thing,” he wondered with a serious look at Alastor.

Alastor polished off some of the last of his steak. “I have to wonder what you looked like in your life before,” he said, choosing not to pull the thread Vox dangled before him. He traded his knife and fork for his wine glass.

Vox raised a brow. “Dead handsome. Obx-obz-obviously.”

“Obviously,” Alastor drawled. “Shame your beauty was stolen from you,” he said, looking pointedly at Vox’s mouth.

Vox tilted his screen. “Afraid to say, nx-nz-not much left,” he admitted with a sigh.

“Oh?” Alastor sipped at his wine, unable to hide his curiosity. “But there  _ is  _ a man behind the curtain?”

“What, Hell didn’t steal something from you?” Vox replied with a smirk.

“There’s something in there,” Alastor said with interest before he wrapped his lips around another bite of steak. He made a point to lick his fork. “Is that how you enjoy your scotch?”

Vox chuckled. “I can enjoy a lot more than scotch.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow.

“For the rz-rx-right person.”

Alastor leered at Vox. This was beyond the game. This was real interest.

Vox was drawn in by Alastor’s eyes, glittering with desire. He grinned and put down his wine glass. “I’ll sz-sx-show you mine if you’ll show me yours,” Vox purred. 

Alastor tilted his head. “Just what do you think I have to hide?”

Vox laughed. “It’s ox-oz-one of the few things you  _ don’t  _ hide.” He angled his screen toward Alastor with interest. “But I never get to sz-sx-see it proper.”

Alastor leveled Vox with a patient look, waiting for him to demystify his implication.

“Let out that lz-lx-little shadow fella.”

Alastor’s brows shot up and he laughed. “Oh, you want to meet  _ him _ ?” he asked. He presented his amusement, but felt a flicker of panic. His shadow could be far more erratic and indulgent than he was.

“It’s a  _ him _ ?” Vox was truly intrigued. “Does he have a name?”

Alastor’s brow furrowed. How had he already said too much? Was the wine loosening his tongue? Or had his skill with conversation atrophied? It was so much easier having a one-sided conversation from behind a microphone.

“Do you know the power of a true name?” Alastor asked.

Vox narrowed an eye at Alastor. “Didn’t pz-px-peg you for the superstitious type.”

Alastor laughed at that. “I would hardly call it superstition if it’s real.”

“You’re tellin’ me az-ax-all those rumors are true,” Vox said with quiet incredulity. “‘Bout you being into voodoo and shit.”

Alastor could tell Vox was not a believer. Man like him only believed what he could see and touch, which Alastor found funny now that he realized that Vox looked at the world through some kind of facsimile. What made his disbelief even more ridiculous was the fact that they were having this conversation sitting in Hell--a plane that’s very existence was supernatural, and through which they all had gained unusual powers and creative punishments.

It was also telling that Vox had neither confirmed nor denied his involvement with the tradition. Perhaps he had not been so successful in his research. Considering the vast varieties of the supernatural that presented in Hell, it came as little surprise that Vox had not divined much about his powers.

“Ya really don’ know much ‘bout the bayou traditions, do ya?” Alastor asked, slipping fully into his homegrown accent, rough and warm.

Vox’s eyes widened. “Now thz-thx-that’s--” he started, then shook his head. “We’re comin’ back to that,” he demanded, pointing a finger at Alastor. “But quit stallin’. We got a dz-dx-deal or what?”

Alastor’s grin split across his face. “Let’s not get hasty with the deals,” he said smoothly, buttoned back up in his Transatlantic accent. He enjoyed the whiplashed look on Vox’s face as he so easily flipped the switch. “I must say I’m intrigued… about the man behind the screen…” 

Alastor took a thoughtful sip of wine. Things were going far better than expected. Without even a coy touch or a sultry promise on his part, Alastor had lured Vox into exposing something so private. Yes, he would have to exchange some private matter of his own, but that was small change in comparison to seeing the TV overlord unmasked.

“Call it a… gentleman’s agreement,” Alastor suggested with an inviting tilt of his head. He raised his glass to Vox.

The TV demon grinned wide and met Alastor’s glass with his own. If Alastor was willing to expose his shadow, Vox felt he had the radio demon in a vulnerable spot. Yes, that shadow was dangerous, but it required Alastor’s concentration. It was half desire for a distraction and half gnawing curiosity that made him willing to show Alastor his raw form. Mutual exposure--and mutually assured destruction, should it all go to shit.

“You first,” Vox encouraged.


	9. Funny Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date continues. Alastor and Vox exchange some of their close guarded secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title refers to "Funny Valentine" by Chet Baker. The song is linked in the text at the appropriate moment!
> 
> Sorry it's taken me a while to respond to some of your comments. I read every single one and I so appreciate hearing from you readers.
> 
> There's going to be some bonus content for BossaNova.EXE coming up next week ~ 👀 Check me out over on Twitter [@vol_ctrl](https://twitter.com/vol_ctrl) for the details on that!
> 
> Thanks again to everyone for subscribing, reading, and sharing the love for this project!

“You first,” Vox encouraged.

Alastor sat back comfortably and crossed his legs. With a wave of his hand, his soft gray shadow took on a leaden weight, coalesced and took shape. The jagged creature loomed over Alastor’s shoulder, sharp bright eyes darting this way and that. The shadow hissed from his forever rictus grin, and Alastor let out an amused breath.

“I don’t think you’ll like it,” Alastor said quietly. He speared a piece of steak from his plate and offered it to the creature.

The shadow eagerly consumed the morsel, wriggling, then darting upright, standing tall behind Alastor. A strange choking sound came from the frozen expression and the black mass jerked as if it were coughing.

“Told you so,” Alastor chuckled.

Vox watched with fascination as Alastor spoke sweetly to his shadow, as if it were a pet. “That’s good steak yz-yx-you’re choking on, buddy,” he said as casually as he could muster.

“He prefers it fresh,” Alastor explained. “That is to say, raw.”

The shadow let out a harsh hiss that sounded, to Vox’s ears, like a sneeze. It chittered and slithered closer to Alastor, then into the space between the two demons. Vox stiffened as the inky face shot through with neon-bright features rushed close.

“He always this friendly?” Vox asked. His wine glass cracked in his tense grip.

“He’s not sure whether or not I want to kill you,” Alastor said lightly.

The shadow’s head turned suddenly as Vox’s wine began to drip through the cracks in the glass, and it slid over Vox’s lap to position itself under the glass.

It was a bizarre sensation to have Alastor’s shadow manifest and practically sprawled over his lap. It’s features were like enough to Alastor’s that Vox felt a thrill run through him, but the energy it exuded was bestial. Vox found his thoughts wandering in the direction of what he had seen Alastor’s shadows do when the radio demon thought he was alone. As if in response, he felt the weight of a hand on his thigh.

Alastor was tangentially aware of his shadow’s movements, and his brow tensed as he felt the creature touch Vox.

Another shadowy hand wrapped around Vox’s wrist, holding his hand still as a black tongue slithered from it’s grinning mouth and over the leaking, cracked glass. Vox watched with undisguised interest, felt that shadowy tongue swipe past his fingers. “Here,” he said. With his other hand, Vox touched the shadow’s chin and lifted it. Grinning, Vox offered the glass to the shadow to drink from properly.

The shadow hissed and looked sharply at Vox, but then realized the demon was giving it more of what it had been tasting dripping from the glass. It leaned into the offered glass and drank what was left. With a crackling, pleased sort of sound, it gave Vox one more grin before it slithered back and skittered over to attach itself to Alastor once more.

“Vz-vx- _ very  _ interesting,” Vox breathed. He put down his glass and shook some of the spilled wine from his hand. “It’s cute.”

Alastor leveled Vox with a sardonic look. “It’s not a pet.”

“Could’a fooled me,” Vox snickered.

“Well? I believe it’s your turn,” Alastor prompted. He was grateful for the mild buzz of the alcohol in his system. Having his shadow manifest always brought out the extremes in his appetite--for violence and, at times, other things.

Vox gave Alastor an indulgent smile. He grabbed a napkin from the table and finished drying his hand. “All the cz-cx-cards on the table,” he agreed.

Alastor watched curiously as Vox reached behind his screen as if he were undoing a piece of jewelry, his interest so focused that even his shadow leaned forward. After a bit of fiddling, Vox put his hand to his throat and gave his neck a twist. The screen fizzled, his expression flickering until it was washed with waves of static. Taking his screen by the edges, Vox lifted the device from his shoulders.

At first, all Alastor could see was a piercing light, jagged and shot through with spidery shadows. There appeared to be a glitch in the fabric of reality above Vox’s shoulders. It became solid, as strangely fluid as Alastor’s own shadows, but made of static, a wash of fuzzy snowcrash gray. The shape was head-like, but featureless. Gone were Vox’s bright, crazed eyes, and his grin--until he spoke.

“ _ Like I zzaid. Not much to look at, _ ” Vox said and his grin appeared, a tear of pure black through the static haze, sharply defined and glittering with fangs even more terrifying than the ones he projected through his screen. His voice was different, too, low and rasping, an unnerving buzz.

Alastor was taken aback. He didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t  _ this. _ The rasp of Vox’s voice clawed down his spine, made him sit up straighter. The calm samba beat trickling from the band felt too relaxed for the fire in Alastor’s blood. He could not put his finger on this feeling in his breast.

Vox was immensely pleased with Alastor’s stare. There it was again--that glimpse of an uncalculated expression. “ _ What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”  _

“I was expecting something flashier,” Alastor deferred.

“ _ What, raw  _ **_energy_ ** _ not flashy enough for ya? _ ” A crackle of electricity forked across his featureless face like lightning.

Alastor’s shadow suddenly leapt forward, slithered like a ragged cloak of darkness along the floor, and popped up behind Vox’s chair. As the television demon turned his head to keep his awareness on the erratic shadow, he found the Alastor-like silhouette lurking over his shoulder. A shadow hand gripped his head and that black tongue lolled out, shamelessly dragging along Vox’s jaw. Just as quickly as it touched Vox, it recoiled and let out a little shriek.

It happened so fast, Alastor didn’t have the wits about him to restrain his shadow. He felt an electric surge travel from his shadow straight to his own tongue and a hand flew to his mouth.

The tight set of Vox’s jaw, uncertain tension from the rapid, unpredictable movements of the shadow, lifted into harsh, cold laughter as he saw Alastor sitting across from him, brow tight with discomfort. “ _ Eager little fella, isn’t he? _ ” Vox hissed playfully. His grinning fangs glittered at Alastor, relishing the anxious stiffness of Alastor’s frame, those fingers tight over his mouth.

“ _ If you wanted to touch, all you had to do was azzzk, Alastor,”  _ Vox preened. He lifted a hand toward the shadow hunched behind him without turning his face from the radio demon before him. The shadow tilted its head at the hand, moved toward it a fraction, then away with a hiss. Vox could feel the dark energy hovering near his hand, and he lashed forward, grabbing a handful of jagged silhouette hair, pulling the shadow close once more. 

Alastor’s brow twitched as he felt the ghost of a tug at his own hair send a charge of sensation down the back of his neck. “He is… impulsive, at best,” Alastor rumbled as he lowered his hand, glowering at his shadow. The beast looked like it was enjoying the touch far too much for Alastor’s liking.

“ _ At least he’s honest, _ ” Vox mused. He turned his head toward the shadow, their faces bare inches apart. “ _ You know what you want, don’t you? _ ” Vox asked the shadow sweetly. He ran his fingers through the strange, asomatous hair of the creature and could feel Alastor practically squirming in his chair. “ _ Not like poor Alastor. Can’t decide  _ what  _ he wants. _ ”

Alastor steeled himself and stood suddenly from his chair. He wasn’t about to let his shadow act on his behalf--or on its own, for that matter. “I already told you what I want,” he said, his smooth-as-smoke voice tempered with tension.

Vox turned to look at Alastor standing over him, relaxed in all the ways Alastor was tense, his neon claws drifting under the shadow’s chin. Oh, this would be good. Would the frigid radio demon finally show some spine? He was all seduction and temptation behind the distance of a lense or a screen, but forever five feet away in person.

“ _ What was it again? _ ” Vox asked. 

The television demon’s unfiltered voice made Alastor’s skin crawl in the most delicious way. It was dangerous and raw, brimming with power and lacking that obnoxious game show host bravado. The sound of it made his hackles raise and his grin widen simultaneously. Vox thought he could call his bluff, but Alastor had been preparing himself for this moment. He would wipe that smug smile off Vox’s face.

The radio demon closed the space between them. He hadn’t realized just how much he was itching to touch that strange static face until his fingers made contact. Vox’s face sizzled against his fingers, warm and electric. The tingle traveled straight up his nerves, alit his lips with a buzz of anticipation.

“You,” Alastor said softly before he kissed that grinning void of a mouth. He was greeted with a shock, but it was more muted than the electricity that had been translated to him through his shadow’s touch.

Vox’s hand left the shadow and instead combed into Alastor’s hair. The radio demon had managed the kiss so smoothly, Vox could do nothing but return it in kind. He had forgotten what it was like to feel something without the barrier of his screen. The intensity took his breath away, a heat like touching a red-hot iron to raw nerves, branded by Alastor’s lips.

Vox’s sharp claws made Alastor’s scalp tingle, another coming to his neck. Stations buzzed and tuned, some outlet for the miasma of sensations assaulting Alastor. Vox’s strange, charged lips led him into a deeper kiss, Alastor’s throat tight with a suppressed noise. Even the radio demon couldn’t make heads or tails of whether it was desire or revulsion.

Vox felt warm, thick shadows sliding over his shoulders--tempted as he was to let the shadow’s hands and tendrils wander, he wanted Alastor to initiate the touch, calculated and precise, not the impulsive, feral touch of his shadow self. He broke from the kiss with a sigh thick with static.

“ _ Not bad, _ ” Vox said lightly.

“Message received?” Alastor asked in a low voice.

“ _ Loud and clear, _ ” Vox replied.

Alastor’s lips were left charged, burning like a spice once tasted left one craving more, chasing that burn. He was annoyed that Vox’s featureless face left so little to read, yet there was something soothing after that roving static blankness, no eyes watching him.

“Why do you hide this face?” Alastor wondered aloud, tracing the static-sizzle of his jaw. There was more definition to be felt with his fingers, lost in the visual noise of his appearance.

“ _ Wouldn’t you like to know, _ ” Vox hissed back with a grin.

“It’s terrifying,” Alastor complimented.

“ _ You like it, _ ” Vox said, pleased.

“Much better than that ridiculous television screen.”

“ _ But where’s the fun when I let you have what you want? _ ”

Alastor found himself grinning, that familiar fire and excitement in his breast at the challenge of Vox’s words.

“ _ You look hungry, Alastor, _ ” Vox commented, drawing a sharp thumb over Alastor’s throat.

Vox’s hand was poised as if to choke him, but with a grip that only threatened the possibility. A flicker of a thought passed through Alastor’s mind, wishing he would.

Alastor’s shadow was dragging claws down Vox’s front, and the TV overlord fought to remain still so as not to disturb it or tip off its distracted master of its wandering hands. The creeping darkness snuck under his suit jacket, dragged down his ribs, but the moment was abruptly interrupted by the swing of the service door.

Both men straightened stiffly and turned to look at the lowly demon. The intense stare from both overlords caused even the ever-composed server to falter for a moment. He had the distinct creeping sensation that he had interrupted something. The radio demon was standing near Overlord Vox’s chair, smiling with a cool severity that chilled him to the bone, and he could feel something worse than eyes, worse than a stare, piercing through him from the featureless static void of the television overlord.

“My good sirs,” the server said with utmost deference, his breath caught in his throat. “May I… interest you in dessert?”

“ _ Why not. I believe my date is still hungry. _ ”

The server could not still his trembling, despite his years of experience serving the most terrible demons in Hell. That voice was like something beyond damnation, from the very darkest nightmares, the deepest pits of Hell. He choked on some attempt at words and saw himself out.

Alastor turned to Vox with a raised brow. “You let him see you like this?” he asked, a playful lilt of hurt in his voice.

“ _ I’ll kill him after dinner, _ ” Vox said casually.

“Hm… you could just gouge his eyes,” Alastor mused. “Cut off his tongue for good measure.”

Vox stood up and took Alastor by the hand. “ _ You are a delight, _ ” he said warmly and lifted Alastor’s hand to his lips. “ _ Such a shame it took you so long to come around. _ ”

Alastor found himself thinking the same thing, much to his chagrin. He shot a quizzical look over Vox’s shoulder. No, not a shame it had taken him so long to come around--a shame he hadn’t tried this sooner. Vox was so pliable under a bit of charm. He could have overtaken the media mogul ages ago if he had only seen through his simple weakness.

“ _ Think of all the years we’ve wasted, _ ” Vox said as he slid an arm around Alastor’s waist and led him toward the bandstand. “ _ Playing our silly games. _ ”

Alastor could not read Vox’s expression, but he felt a chill in that voice.  _ Playing games,  _ he said, his tone like a double-edged blade, teasing at the idea of this, too, being a game. Perhaps Vox suspected this was all a ruse. As dull as Alastor thought Vox was, he knew the demon was no fool. He, too, had been playing his part in this game.  _ But not well enough,  _ Alastor thought with a smile.

Vox palmed Alastor’s hand into his own and slid his other hand around to the small of the radio demon’s back. Their weight shifted, sinking into the beat led by a bright piano line and the steady time of the brushed drum. To Alastor’s surprise, it was Vox who led the first step; his body moved automatically, reading Vox’s movements as if they had done this a hundred times before.

“Games?” Alastor mused. “I thought of it as more of a  _ hunt _ ,” he said as he advanced on Vox, taking the steps in his direction.

“ _ What do you know of hunting, little deer? _ ” Vox teased, meeting Alastor’s advance and returning it with style.

Alastor bit back his amusement. How little Vox knew. “Both the deer and the hunter know patience.”

“ _ Oh? Is that what you were teaching me? Patience?”  _ Vox asked, double-stepping to lead Alastor into a short spin, capturing him back-to-chest.

“You  _ modern  _ demons are all about,” Alastor twisted himself back out of the spin and reasserted their matched steps, back and forth to a samba beat, “instant gratification.”

“ _ Give me zzzome credit, _ ” Vox hissed, the static crackling in the air between them. “ _ I know a thing or two about the long game. _ ”

Alastor’s eyes burned into Vox’s static void. He would need to cinch his victory here, tonight. The longer he prolonged this game, the more moves he allowed his opponent. Already, he could taste his victory. After all, he now knew one of Vox’s secrets--the true nature of his form.

Besides, playing this game in close quarters had proven  _ far  _ more entertaining than playing from afar.

“Oh, Vox…” Alastor sighed as he leaned closer to the overlord, “you would be lost without me.”

Vox tightened his grip on Alastor, holding the radio demon closer still. “ _ I’ll miss you when you’re gone, _ ” he hissed into Alastor’s ear, then spun the other demon out toward the bandstand.

Alastor’s feet moved beneath him with practiced ease, but his mind was left whirring even after he came to a stop. The thrill of the threat fueled his fire as he spun rapidly back into Vox’s arms.

With a grin, Vox pulled Alastor close, trapping him chest-to-chest. The beat trailed off as the song ended, leaving the two demons swaying together, the fluidity of their steps incongruous with the charged air between their dangerous grins.

Vox held Alastor’s hand against his shoulder, relishing the press of that lean frame against his own. Alastor felt taut against him, a high-tuned string ready to be plucked, and yet his body was carried by the soft tune. He untwined his hand from the radio demon’s and snapped. The shadows on the bandstand stirred, then turned to look at the piano player, who began to play a [low, somber tune.](https://youtu.be/jvXywhJpOKs)

“ _ My funny... Valentine…” _ Vox sang, “ _ Sweet… comic Valentine… _ ”

Alastor’s eyes widened. He had entirely forgotten that Vox has promised to sing for him. His static-laced voice seemed to clear, as if hitting the notes focused his frequencies, producing dulcet tones that vibrated Alastor to his core from so close.

“ _ You make me smile… with my heart, _ ” Vox crooned, his void-black smile spreading across his featureless face. He led Alastor slowly, their feet moving in sync, circling without an inch between them.

“ _ Your looks are laughable… _ ” Alastor knew the song well, and he smirked in anticipation of the next line. “ _ Unphotographable… _ ” The two shared a wordless breath of a laugh, and Alastor’s hand moved on its own accord to drape around the back of Vox’s neck. “ _ Yet you’re my favorite ~ work of art… _ ”

Try as he might to disguise it, Vox could see that Alastor was enjoying this. As if noticing Vox’s eyeless stare, the radio demon gave him a mysterious smile and let his cheek come to rest against Vox’s chest, obscuring his expression.

“ _ Is your figure… less than Greek? _ ” Vox sang, allowing his arm to curl around Alastor’s middle. “ _ Is your mouth… a little weak? _ ”

Alastor could hear the amusement in Vox’s voice, but he didn’t care. He was being lifted by that voice, filled with a kind of pleasure he had scarce experienced in Hell.

“ _ When you open it to speak, _ ” Vox sang slowly, lifting a hand to Alastor’s chin. “ _ Are you smart? _ ”

Alastor found himself forced to look back up into that static-ruin face, and he knew his own expression was a ruin. He was transfixed by Vox, by this perfectly choreographed moment.

“ _ But don’t… change your hair for me… Not if you care for me… _ ” Vox shook his head slowly, leaning into the words. _ “Stay, little Valentine… Stay… _ ” He had hardly to dip his head before he felt Alastor lifting to meet his lips, a meeting of the minds, a moment where the fight for dominance, the game, faded away.

“ _ Each day is Valentine’s Day… _ ”

Game. Set. Match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that you've all been introduced to Vox's screen-less "static form," I can finally share some fanart! That'll be over on [my Twitter](https://twitter.com/vol_ctrl) ~ You can search for the tag #StaticVox or #BossaNovaEXE 👀
> 
> Thanks for reading! All art for the chapters is done by the inimitable [Kyng](https://twitter.com/kyng_sg).


	10. Jungle Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dessert and a nightcap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some **gore**.
> 
> Chapter music is ['Jungle Fever'](https://youtu.be/8VCyjS32yLg) by The Mills Brothers.

The table was cleared for dessert, and the last of the wine was poured into fresh glasses. Vox looked pleased with himself as a plate of sugar-dusted beignets was placed before the radio demon. The two exchanged a look--another nostalgic food from Alastor’s life before. This one was received with far less vitriol.

As the server was about to bow himself out, Vox lifted a hand. The demon noted the subtle gesture immediately and came at the overlord’s summons.

Alastor sipped at his wine as he watched the demon bow low near Vox’s shoulder. Vox lifted his static monstrosity of a head toward the server’s ear. Whatever he said in that hiss of static made the demon’s eyes widen in fear. With a sudden, violent motion, the lowly demon’s skull crashed onto the pristine tablecloth, nearly upsetting Vox’s wine glass.

“Please! Please, no! Please!” the server demon begged.

Alastor sat back to enjoy the suffering, his blissful smile softened by the fine wine.

“ _Dizzzcretion is part of your job description,_ ” Vox told the demon in a cool tone.

“I can be discrete! Oh god, please!” the demon sobbed, shutting his eyes tightly as he scrabbled at the table cloth, weak claws tearing through linen. He knocked over Vox’s wine, scarlet staining the tablecloth and splashing onto Vox’s pant leg and boot.

“ _Now you’ve spilled my wine,_ ” Vox sighed, a grating tear of white noise. “ _These boots are worth more than your pitiful life._ ”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the demon babbled desperately, terror freezing his frantic scratching, but setting his muscles trembling.

“ _You’re not even worthy of licking these boots,_ ” Vox told the demon, that horrible maw dipping close to his ear.

“Please, Overlord Vox, please--I’ll do anything. Anything!” the demon begged.

“ _I’m not going to kill you,_ ” Vox reassured him. His hand let up for a moment, then stroked the demon’s hair, brushing it back from his sweaty brow.

The demon looked up at Vox with wide, terrified eyes.

“ _You have Alastor to thank for that._ ”

His eyes darted to the radio demon frantically, a mad grin of relief spreading across his lips. “Thank you! Oh, thank you, Overlord Alastor. I’m a big fan,” he gasped.

“ _Alastor had a much better idea._ ”

The demon’s expression froze, staring at the radio demon as that smile widened in promise. Crazed with panic, the lowly demon began to laugh. Vox’s grip in his hair tightened once more, craning his neck against the table. The last thing he saw was those neon blue talons framed with oppressive white noise.

The horrible screams complemented the improvisational nature of the beat that had picked back up from the bandstand. Vox seemed to enjoy his work, and did it with precision. As blood spurted from the demon’s eye socket and across the white linen, Alastor sighed in contentment. What an unexpectedly lovely date.

Vox’s brightly colored claws were dark with blood by the time he gouged the other eye free. Alastor leaned forward against the edge of the table to watch, and was delighted when an unexpected spurt of blood sprayed over his dessert, turning the snowy sugar on top a stark crimson. 

The demon howled like an animal, his hands fighting to find purchase on anything. Vox put his prize down on the tablecloth, out of reach of the desperate demon, and with a snap of his fingers, he bound the pitiful creature. Alastor noted, with some amusement, that Vox’s brand of magic manifested not as shadow, but as power cords.

The TV overlord shoved the screaming, sobbing wreck to the floor between them, and then sank into his chair once more. “ _Ambiance,_ ” he said to Alastor of the cries of agony. He turned to look to the bandstand and found Alastor’s shadow enjoying itself, dancing with what looked like another shadow. The shadow had created itself a dance partner that seemed to resemble its master’s own, recreating the slow dance that had played out minutes ago.

“ _Hey, buddy,_ ” Vox said to the shadow. The almost-Alastor silhouette turned bright eyes on Vox. The television demon summoned it over with a crook of his bloody finger. As the shadow parted from it’s dance partner, the vague, tall shape fell to the ground like a sheet and rejoined the main mass of shadow.

Alastor could feel the unfettered joy within his shadow-self as Vox fed it the eyes he had liberated from the moaning, sobbing demon now bleeding out on the floor. He allowed his shadow this ecstasy, and wondered Vox’s motives. “It’s not a pet,” Alastor reminded him as the shadow eagerly lapped the blood from Vox’s hand.

“ _I know,_ ” Vox said lightly. “ _It’s an extension of you._ ”

Alastor smirked. Vox was not entirely wrong, but he was sorely ignorant to the true nature of his bond with the shadow.

“ _Doubt I could ever get you like this…”_ Vox cradled the shadow’s chin with his fingers, running his thumb along it’s long tongue. He tilted his head at Alastor as the radio demon finally cut into his beignets. “ _Unless…?_ ”

Alastor put a bite of blood-soaked pastry in his mouth and gave Vox a look.

It was a look so sultry, Vox was almost taken aback. That look felt like victory. He leaned toward Alastor across the demon moaning in agony. “ _What d’ya say we take this back to my place--_ ”

Alastor brandished his fork threateningly at Vox with an irritated quirk of his brow. “Don’t ruin it,” he threatened.

Vox sat back with a grin. “ _For a nightcap. That’s all I was gonna say._ ”

Alastor’s smile returned. “For a nightcap,” he agreed. He savored one more bite of bloody beignet, then pushed his plate aside. “I’m not much for sweets,” he told Vox, implying he was ready to depart that very moment. The arousal stirring in his gut wouldn’t last all night.

Vox straightened, unable to hide his eagerness for a moment. He quelled his excitement with a gesture toward the lowly demon writhing bound on the floor. “ _The rest is all yours, babe._ ”

Alastor smiled. A much better dessert. With hardly a thought, his shadow descended on the demon, ripping a fresh peal of terror from the poor soul. As his shadow devoured the demon’s tongue, Alastor could taste the wash of blood in his own mouth. The heat traveled right through him, intensified that desire that had been building all night. To his surprise, Vox had made it quite easy to cultivate desire for him. Hardly work at all.

The two departed, leaving behind a rather small mess considering their combined reputations. They were whisked away in Vox’s limo, the smell of blood lingering on Vox’s clothes heady in the enclosed space. Alastor didn’t mind Vox’s arm over the back of his seat, not touching him, but bringing them closer.

Alastor admonished himself for not realizing the advantage of seeing Vox’s personal penthouse until they had arrived. Had he really agreed to this without even seeing all the angles? Must have been the wine. And the distracting company. Vox’s banter had kept him quite busy.

But the goal was quite simple and everything had fallen into place nicely. It was a clever scheme he had brewed up--of course everything was going according to plan.

Vox’s penthouse was atop one of the larger high-rises in the city. “ _Killer view,_ ” he boasted as they took the elevator up.

He was not wrong. Most of the outer walls of the penthouse were glass, letting in the deep scarlet tinge of the night sky. They were so high up that all of the city lights glittered below them, and Alastor could make out the lines of the pentagram gouged through the metropolis.

“ _Can I take your coat?_ ” Vox offered. He had already doffed his own.

Alastor lifted his gaze to Vox. He was playing the gentleman well. The radio demon indulged him, easing his coat from his shoulders and offering it to Vox. As the overlord went to hang Alastor’s coat, the radio demon took in the penthouse.

“No cameras here,” he noted curiously.

“ _You’re not the only one who enjoys his privacy,_ ” Vox said as he rejoined Alastor, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt.

“The man in the high castle,” Alastor mused.

“ _That’s an unexpected reference coming from you._ ” Vox rolled up his sleeves, exposing bare arms of a dark tinge, a strange, muted blue.

“I may loathe technology, but I do keep up with the times.”

“ _Don’t tell me you actually watch TV._ ”

“No,” Alastor snorted. “Not if I can help it.” He shot Vox a dubious look. “Unlike you, I do read books.” He noted a distinct lack of books around the penthouse, aside from a few thick, glossy photograph histories of technology on a coffee table. They looked more like decoration than actual reading material.

In lieu of books, Vox’s built-in shelves around an elegant fireplace were stacked with televisions from various eras. There was a certain aesthetic appeal to the display, and Alastor could appreciate the notion of collecting history.

“ _What’ll it be?_ ” Vox asked as he strode over to his home bar, replete with an actual bartop and a few stools, as if he might be one to entertain in his private abode.

“Bourbon,” Alastor replied, but his voice was airy and distracted. Something across the room had drawn his attention.

It was a radio set--but not just any radio set. It was a large cabinet, an old fashioned model, strikingly similar to the one he had grown up with in his own home. The wood was polished, and the canvas speaker-front decorated with a crisp, elaborate fleur de lis. Alastor ran his finger along the wood fondly, could practically feel the hum of it under his fingers, as if it were in regular use.

Alastor felt Vox approaching and turned to meet him. “No cameras in your home,” he said thoughtfully as he took the glass of bourbon Vox offered him, “but you allow a radio.”

“ _And here you are,_ ” Vox purred.

Vox’s tone implied that had been his plan all along. Alastor wondered what Vox thought he could achieve from this. Was he such a romantic fool that he thought Alastor would enter a partnership with him over one bout of sexual intercourse? His attention to the romance of the night seemed to imply just that. Alastor would allow him to believe in this fantasy. In the end, it would be he who held the upper hand.

“ _Put something on,_ ” Vox encouraged with a tilt of his head. “ _Whatever you like._ ”

Alastor took obvious pleasure in turning the dials on the radio. Vox could see it radiating from him as the warm vacuum tube hum came to life, blending with a quiet hum of Alastor’s own. A pleasant buzz traveled through him to see the radio demon so enjoying himself, and Vox applauded his victory in wooing the illusive Alastor.

“ _Still think I’m a no good man?_ ” Vox asked, drawing closer. He leaned past Alastor, resting his drink in hand against the top of the radio.

Alastor turned to find Vox had him half cornered against the cabinet. ‘Cornered’ was not quite the right word--that implied Vox had him trapped. It didn’t feel like a trap so much as an invitation. Usually it was the threats that thrilled him, but Alastor found himself thrilled by the invitation.

“I must say, you do clean up nice,” Alastor said, reaching up to tweak Vox’s bowtie. Even without eyes, Alastor could feel the look that the overlord was giving him. He trailed his finger down, hooking it in the vee of Vox’s waistcoat to close the space between them.

Vox met Alastor’s lips and found them eager, despite the current that singed between them. Alastor’s hands drew him in even closer, sliding over his chest. Although they had arguably already spent some of the night this close while dancing, the proximity felt brand new and electric. The voltage of passion ramped up quickly as Vox pressed Alastor against the radio cabinet, feeling his frame against his own in a whole new way.

Alastor had been waiting for this moment, when Vox’s lust would finally win over his common sense. What a fool to think that any of this--the flirtatious photographs, the salacious performances, the romantic date--would change the nature of their relationship. The radio demon was fueled by his impending victory, his dominion over Vox, and he kissed Vox hungrily. He would devour him.

Vox pulled back, utterly taken by the sight of Alastor hazed with passion. “ _I thought it was just a nightcap,_ ” he breathed with a grin.

“It’s never just a nightcap, is it?” Alastor mused, his smooth voice unaffected by the heat between them. He pulled Vox back to his lips, already feeling the other demon’s defeat as he so gladly dove back into the kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my pinned tweet over on my Twitter [@vol_ctrl](https://twitter.com/vol_ctrl) for information on some BONUS CONTENT for BossaNova.EXE 👀 There's more where THAT came from.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Art, as always, is by [@kyng_sg](https://twitter.com/kyng_sg) ~


	11. Wicked Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentino has noticed just how _distracted_ Vox has been as of late. Lo and behold, what should he find...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some **EXCLUSIVE** BossaNova.EXE content between chapter 10 & 11 available via my Twitter [@vol_ctrl](https://twitter.com/vol_ctrl), including some more wonderful art from [@kyng_sg](https://twitter.com/kyng_sg)! Check my pinned tweet for the details ~
> 
> Without further ado, Valentino is back in the mix ~

“Vox ~ There you are,” Valentino greeted the other overlord with a wide grin.

“What’s sz-sx--shakin’, buddy?” Vox walked into the dimly lit lounge that Valentino passed as an office. There was an actual desk, replete with a chair that looked more like a throne than something you would get any work done in, and for once, Valentino was sitting in it and not sprawled on one of the languid couches with a couple of girls. In fact, the room was shockingly devoid of any eye candy or company.

“All by your lz-lx-lonesome?” Vox asked with a smirk. “You sx-sz-scare ‘em off with one of your pz-px-pitches?” he laughed, cycling through a few of Valentino’s more questionable titles on his screen as he walked over to join the pimp at his desk, sitting himself in one of the insufferably low chairs. Didn’t suit his tall frame at all. “Or did the drugs finally rz-rx-run out?”

“C’mon, Vox. You know daddy’s always got the goods. Gotta keep those girls skinny somehow,” Valentino hissed. He held up a large, glossy print, considering the content with barely-concealed amusement. “No…” he sighed with delight, “I had a bit of… businessss I wanted to discuss with you.”

Vox could hear the pleasure thick in Valentino’s hiss. He cocked a brow. “Business,” he repeated with interest. “What’cha got there?” He tilted his screen. “Some new hz-hx-head shot? Must be an oz-ox-old fashioned broad if she sent it on px-pz-paper.”

Valentino laughed so hard Vox couldn’t help but chuckle, himself, though he failed to see what was so damn funny. When Valentino finally caught his breath, he shook his head and tossed the photograph across the desk to Vox. “It’s for you, actually.”

Vox picked up the photograph and the sight of it shot a sharp bolt of electricity through him. It was Alastor--and not a photograph he had seen before. It was framed in such a way that Vox could tell the radio demon had authored the photo himself. The resolution had the same quality as Alastor’s previous photographic gift, but Vox could still make out the blue hue of his solitary article of clothing. Well. That was damning.

“Isn’t that one of your shirts?” Valentino asked with a tilt of his head.

“Where dz-dx-did you get this?” Vox asked, his voice dangerously monotone.

“I take it your little _date_ went well,” the pimp purred, barely able to contain his amusement. His long fingers played over a lacquer box on his desk, withdrawing a cigar from within.

“Did you bz-bx-bug my system, _buddy?_ ” Vox sneered, his grin a smear of multicolor static.

Valentino clipped the cigar neatly and put it between his fangs, letting the tension hang between them as he lit it. “Can you blame me?” he sighed, spewing a cloud of fuschia smoke into the air. “Clever little trick--using a _fax_ machine.” Valentino threw his head back with a laugh. “Was that your idea?” he asked. Reading the unamused look on Vox’s face, Valentino mugged surprise. “That was _his_ idea?” He slid back into his throne and crossed his legs. “Interesssting, very interesting... You think if we call back, we’d upload right into his head? Now there’s an idea…”

“You even bz-bx-bugged the fax machine?” Vox asked with an exasperated sigh.

“Vox. I didn’t _bug_ your fax machine. The print out was just lying there.”

Vox sank in his seat with a sigh and let the damning photograph lie on his chest. Face down. He didn’t need that distraction right now. “Whz-whx-what were you doing in my office?” he asked, static fizzling irritated on his screen.

“Oh, look who’s being suspicious now,” Valentino said incredulously. “I caught you jacking off in the middle of the afternoon in front of of your computer like some fuckin’ kid when you’ve got all of Pentagram City at your beck and call. The fuck am I supposed to think, baby?” Valentino said with feigned sympathy.

“Don’t ‘bz-bx-baby’ me, Val,” Vox rumbled.

Valentino went on, unphased. “Then I hear you’ve got a _date_ at Dante’s?” He raised a brow at Vox. “A date so important, you bought out the whole night?” The cockroach hissed out a laugh. “Dante’s ain’t cheap,” he said with another plume of smoke. “He put out, at least?”

The static rippled across Vox’s screen. Alastor had done more than just ‘put out.’ He’d put out _and then some._ Not just feral and ferocious, the animal he expected from his adversary, but sultry and sensual, too. He’d witnessed a side of Alastor that had been hinted, suggested, but Vox had doubted the existence of even until the last moment. And so much more. A charm, a melody, a rhythm between them that had never existed. Or… perhaps he had just never noticed. A breath caught in his chest as he tried to muster a suitable response.

“Don’t tell me…?” Valentino’s eyes flashed behind his glasses. Now, wasn’t that juicy. The prude of a radio demon had actually hooked up with Vox. “Oh ~ that’s why you were so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on your morning broadcast.” He waggled his eyebrows, “I bet _he_ was.”

A roll of channel noise, garbled thoughts, juddered from Vox’s speakers. It wasn’t just the sex--but how the hell could he say _that_ ? Admitting _that_ was worse than just fessing up to how great the sex had been, how _alive_ it had made him feel.

“So, everything’s going according to plan, then?” Valentino said coolly into the snowcrash of noise. Vox, the Media Overlord, was at a loss for words. That was a first. Valentino narrowed his eyes at Vox through the drift of smoke.

The thoughtful buzz of noise cut all at once and Vox fixed his pixels on Valentino. Right. The plan. His plan to beat Alastor at his own game--to finally control him--to win the bout and win the war. 

His system whirred with thoughts of _the plan,_ but all he came up with were useless strategies of how best to woo Alastor next, what songs might put him in that rare mood, how to curate that perfect moment when his adversary melted into his arms and against his lips. How could he fabricate a reason to see him, where might he take him, how might he enjoy another private moment with him. What might Alastor “gift” him next? Where did they go from here--from their first date, the clash of their orbits in a fit of passion?

“Mind filling me in?” Valentino asked, masking his growing suspicion with a tight grin, one nail running along his golden fang.

“On what?” Vox muttered. “The date?” His grin snapped on his screen, but it was brittle, almost self-effacing.

Valentino snorted, shooting a puff of smoke across the desk at Vox. “Spare me.” He sat forward, folding slender arms on his desk. “The _plan._ ” He was beginning to seriously doubt that Vox had one, and that in itself was cause for concern. 

Everything had gone according to _plan._ Alastor had agreed to his date. He had wined and dined the radio demon beautifully. It had been pleasant, really. He hadn’t been on a date in years. Not a proper one--not with someone he considered his equal.

The plan.

Alastor had said--had admitted it, out loud, without any of the trappings of a song and dance, no coded messages in lyrics, but flat-out. _I want you._ More than once. Oh, how it had felt to hear that from Alastor. He expected it from anyone, everyone, but him. And to hear him say it with such conviction…

The plan.

He couldn’t take Alastor at his word. Not without considering the other layers beyond that word. He could very well have meant a number of things. Want him for what?

For dinner and dancing? To satisfy his own repressed carnal desires? To lie with him, spent and content, in the dark? His companion--the only one who knew him quite so well as anyone else, who truly understood him after all these years of back and forth, who could fall so easily into conversation--

No, Alastor could have meant he _wanted_ him. At his mercy. Under his control. _Wanted_ him to bow down to him. _Wanted_ him to do as he bid. _Wanted_ him under his spell.

Surely that was what this had all been about. And what it continued to be about. Their date, the chemical _reaction_ afterwards, had not changed the parameters of the game. Only complicated them.

Why should it be complicated? It was just sex. A little romance. Nothing had changed. No, nothing at all had changed…

“Vox. What’s on your mind?” Valentino asked, picking at the leaf of the cigar with his thumb.

“It’s a complicated game,” Vox replied quietly.

Valentino narrowed his eyes at Vox. “No it ain’t, baby.” He exhaled and kicked back, crossing his ankles. “You’re _makin’_ it complicated. You’re lettin’ him get in your head.”

Vox frowned and gripped the print out, taking a peek at it with a grimace.

Valentino lifted a brow. “Look, I know you’re into this shit. The… old timey love songs, and the little cabaret numbers, and the cute little pin-ups,” he said, waving a dismissive hand through the smoke. “But so does he. Why else ya think he’s doin’ all this. He’s playin’ you like a goddamn Atari, baby.”

Vox tilted his screen slightly at Valentino, a brow narrowed at the comparison to such an out-dated system. “Alastor doesn’t even knz-knx-know what an Atari is…”

Valentino ignored that little comment with a chuckle. “Love is dead,” he said, the words scratching familiar from his throat as he tipped his head back to expel smoke from dusky lips. “Double-dead in Hell.”

“You thz-thx-think I don’t knz-knx-know that?” Vox asked, the conviction in his practiced tone stronger than the flicker in his chest. _Stay, little Valentine, stay…_

Valentino worked a fang against his cigar thoughtfully. “He’s got his claws in you…”

“Make your pz-px-point. You dz-dx-don’t think I can handle this?”

Valentino narrowed his eyes at Vox. For all his systems and programs, Vox really couldn’t see it, could he? Even connected to the grid, to every network in Pentagram City, Vox was too dense to see what was staring him right in the face. Valentino couldn’t understand it, but he could see it plain as shit on Vox’s screen.

Vox wasn’t just looking for a piece of tail. He could have damn near anyone he wanted in Hell on a whim. Alastor may have taunted Vox with the promise of that, but Valentino knew Vox too well. He hadn’t fallen for _that._ He’d fallen for something else. Something that must have been festering there for a while.

“Alastor’s got you right where he wants you, baby,” Valentino said.

“So whz-whx-what’re we gonna do about it?” Vox snapped back. His own systems were no help at all. He caved to Valentino’s luring, hinting tone that he had something in mind.

“So what’re we gonna do about it,” Valentino feasted on the words with a delicious smile. “That’s right.” He grinned at Vox. Poor fucker had it bad, so deep in the hole at this point he couldn’t even see sense. But he hadn’t hit rock bottom. Not yet. He just needed a little push.

“What’s the currency, baby?” Valentino tilted his head at Vox. “Reputation,” he answered rhetorically with a nod.

Val and Vox had played this game many times before. Violence was the currency of the dregs of society--reputation was how the big boys played the game. A sound obliteration of an aspiring Sinner gunning for Overlord status could tip the balance of notoriety, but so could a rumor. Exposure could be slanted in a negative light just as well as a positive one. Reputation was all these sorry lost souls had.

Alastor’s reputation was a force to be reckoned with. It had protected him from all a manner of attempts to shake his standing as one of the eldest, and most unconventional, Overlords. He had the traits of many of the other Overlords in spades--a bloodthirsty streak, ruthless hunger for domination, poise and charm. But he also had the quality that made him untouchable: indifference. Alastor wasn’t hungry for power, he was simply _powerful._ He did not lord over a particular district or turf, but instead commanded a presence over the entirety of Pentagram City.

This made Alastor both incredibly dangerous and incredibly vulnerable. He had no faction or turf where he could retreat to lick his wounds and regroup. His fans and admirers did not so much swear fealty to him as much as they lived in fear of his unpredictable fervor. No one was safe from Alastor’s impulsive wrath.

And, if Valentino’s calculations were correct--and they always were--Alastor’s reputation was, in part, what had Vox by the balls. Not just his reputation as an Overlord whose singular power rivaled their own, but the reputation _between_ them. To tip that scale from pure animosity to… well, something still _animal,_ but much more, _carnal_ in nature… The appeal was not lost on Valentino, though Vox may have been blind to it.

“Alastor’s got you by the dick, but what’s he got on you?” Valentino asked. He was genuinely curious for the answer, but judging by Vox’s tense, listening look, he wasn’t about to be forthcoming on the matter.

“He’s given _us_ plenty of ammo,” Valentino went on. He picked up a remote from the table and clicked it carelessly over his shoulder. A large, diamond-bedazzled flatscreen began to descend from behind him. It was already playing Alastor’s cabaret number--the one that Vox had wiped from the system.

“You sz-sx-scrubbed that up?” Vox asked, tensing in his seat.

“Out of concern,” Valentino insisted with exaggerated sympathy. “You haven’t been yourself lately, Voxxy.”

Valentino wasn’t wrong, and Vox was all too aware. He glowered up at the screen, torn between desire and suspicion.

“Now, that’s _tame._ Get by on name alone, but thisss…” Valentino clicked the remote again and this time it pulled up the intimate view of Alastor in the bathtub, shadows sliding into the water with hardly a ripple.

Vox’s eyes went wide on his screen and he was transfixed for a moment. This was a shot from after he had hastily turned off his screen when Valentino had interrupted him earlier.

“And even this?” Valentino puffed on his cigar as a deep vacuum-tube hum emanated from Alastor on the screen. The view showed nothing explicit, only a tame amount of exposed skin, but the static-scratched murmur coming from the star of the show was nothing short of lewd. “ _This_ is what got you all hot and bothered?”

Vox lunged to his feet and snatched the remote out of Valentino’s hand, crushing it in his grip. His current arced from the remote right to the television and blew the circuits.

Valentino leveled him with an unimpressed look.

“Thz-thx-that’s _mine._ ”

“Sure, fine, whatever, Vox.” Valentino waved his hand to disperse some of the smoke swirling around his head. “You wanna make sure everyone knows, _and_ you keep Alastor right where you want him, you’re gonna have to give me somethin’ to work with.”

The tension sank from Vox’s shoulders slightly. “What dz-dx-do you mean?”

“We could leak this footage, but it’d just be a flash in the pan. Nothing connecting him to you.” Valentino tipped back in his chair and tilted his head at Vox. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He took a long drag of his cigar. “For everyone to know the _Radio Demon_ is yours…?”

Vox balked at Valentino’s leap in logic.

“Tip the scales…” Valentino ashed his cigar. “It’s a win-win. You clinch the victory in this fucked up courtship game you two are playin’ at, and you write the story. _Overlord Vox seduces the frigid Radio Bitch._ Or whatever.”

The idea of breaking this story, his success in winning over Alastor, claiming his long time rival as his newly-minted beau thrilled Vox. What a spectacle that would be.

“And _thz-thx-then,_ if he challenges it, we rz-rx-release all these lz-lx-love notes he’s been sending me,” Vox chimed in, waving the latest print out.

“Now you’re talkin’,” Valentino agreed. “Alastor played himself.” He snorted and relaxed fluidly in his chair. Maybe Vox was finally seeing the light. In all his years, in Hell and on Earth, Valentino didn’t think he’d ever met someone quite so bad at feelings. He still wasn’t sure Vox _got it,_ but Valentino hoped he would at least be less insufferably distracted.

“So… so wz-wx-we craft some big reveal--an event,” Vox said, heated with the beginnings of a plan--a spectacle.

“No, no, no,” Valentino said, waving his hand. “No events. Think with your head, Vox. What’s gonna happen if you pull some publicity stunt?”

Vox stopped short.

“You want Alastor to steal your thunder?” Valentino puffed at his cigar, leveling Vox with an expectant look.

“Shit.” Of course. If he did some big event, Alastor would just turn it into a broadcast and undermine his announcement. It would make for great television, but it wouldn’t be the _flawless victory_ he needed to assert his position in the game.

Valentino’s fangs split wide into a grin full of contented malice. “Let Alastor make his next move,” he said sweetly. “But this time, _you_ make the tape.”

Vox cocked a brow at Valentino. “Tz-tx-trying to get me in front of the cx-cz-camera again?” he teased.

“You get the footage, and let Daddy take care of the rest,” Valentino purred.


	12. Old Fashioned Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastor comes to Vox once more with dark designs in mind, but things do not go quite as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title & music inspiration for this chapter is ['Old Fashioned Romance'](https://youtu.be/fPduJsTLIf0) by Lee More and her Blue Grass Boys.

[Sir--the Radio Demon is in the building.]

Vox received the message straight to his database, and his pixels brightened. He’d been lying in wait for almost a week. Let Alastor come to him. The anticipation was maddening, worsened by his growing conviction in the next step of his plan. The grand finale, the master stroke, was sweetened by the promise of having Alastor again.

He’d had only his memory of that night when he’d ravished Alastor. True to his word, he hadn’t recorded it, although his memory was nigh as good as a hard copy recording. But, oh, how he had revisited that night. How sweet his victory would be, documenting every intimate way in which Alastor was  _ his _ .

The TV Overlord stood suddenly, upsetting the girls who had been trying to earn his favor as he idled in Valentino’s studio lounge. Ostensibly he was overseeing a new production, but really it was par for the course of his and Valentino’s usual schedule. 

The pimp had been tempting him for the past week with alternative company, teasing him for his “type.” How could Valentino resist now that he knew just how bad Vox had it for his supposed  _ rival _ ? Vox was unamused and had ruined more than one of Valentino’s hats for trotting out one of his employees wearing what could only be described as a ‘sexy Alastor costume.’

_ I trust you’re being courteous,  _ Vox beamed back to his agent.

[He’s in your office, boss. I can pull up the feed now--]

_ No need. _

[What are your orders, boss? We can rush him and hold him down up there--]

_ Stay put. I’ll be right there. _

“Somewhere to be?” Valentino asked Vox. The TV Overlord must’ve been on a call, as he was utterly ignoring the girls cooing at him to come back and relax with them and had that faraway look in his pixels.

“I’ve got a dz-dx-date with my little Vz-Vx--Valentine,” Vox told the pimp with a grin.

“ _ Finally, _ ” Valentino hissed with pleasure. “Should I send a crew with you?” he teased.

“Wouldn’t want to sz-sx-spook him,” Vox chuckled. “He couldn’t have px-pz-picked a better location.”

Vox wasted no time in making his way back to the Network tower. He knew he could have pulled up the surveillance feeds and taken a peek at what Alastor was up to--it might have been prudent to do so. But his system was humming in anticipation. The combined promise of seduction and danger had his current rushing double-time through his body. After all, Alastor had never dared breach the security of his inner sanctum. Sneaky bastard had probably used that little shadow-void trick and zipped right in. The threat that he could have done that all along only increased Vox’s excitement.

He let himself into his office and felt Alastor before he saw him. The presence was familiar to him now, thick and cloying, like a taste on his digital tongue. The room appeared empty, the brilliant glow of his control center washing over naught but his chair. 

“Alastor,” Vox said as he shut the door behind him. “What a plz-plx-pleasant surprise.”

“Your security is pitiful,” Alastor’s voice came lightly from Vox’s chair. “I expected better of your fortress, Vox.”

“You kx-kz-know warding against voodoo isn’t exactly my sz-sx-specialty.”

“I also didn’t expect you to keep me waiting…” Alastor mused, turning the chair enough that he could catch a glimpse of Vox. He’d had time to take a look around. The office was much like Vox’s penthouse, though it lacked even a scrap of charm. This place was like what Alastor disliked most about Vox--modern, cold, full of glowing screens but lacking any warmth.

“I had some bz-bx-business over at the studio,” Vox explained as he walked toward the radio demon sitting in his chair like he owned the place.

Alastor could feel Vox’s excitement in the very air. He had always been able to  _ sense  _ Vox, to feel that charge in the air around him, but he had never been quite so attuned to it. Nor had it ever held this  _ particular  _ frequency.

“Hm. Working hard or hardly working?”

“No rest for the wz-wx-wicked,” Vox said with a grin. “Have to kz-kx-keep myself bz-bx-busy… Idle hz-hx-hands and all…” He approached Alastor and only then realized that the radio demon was dressed in something other than his usual attire.

“Did you really miss me so much?” Alastor asked as he turned toward Vox.

Vox was, for once, speechless.

“I’ve heard rumors…” Alastor gave a curious quirk of his brow.

Vox couldn’t stop staring at the demon before him. Bathed in the harsh neon of screen light, Alastor stood before him in an elegant robe--and nothing else, if the exposed vee of his chest was to be believed.

“Rz-rx-rumors…” Vox glitched out.

“Yes.” Alastor uncrossed his legs and shifted fluidly to his feet. “Such rumors, I could scarcely believe,” he said in a reproachful tone as he lifted a hand to stroke along Vox’s lapel. “Something to the effect of… Radio Demon burlesque?”

Vox choked out a laugh. “Thz-thx-that wasn’t my idea,” he insisted.

“Then whose idea was it?” Alastor asked, sliding his fingers along the fine fabric of Vox’s lapel, relishing that static sizzle coming off the media overlord.

“Whz-whx-what are you wearing?” Vox hissed out, unable to tamp down his curiosity--and only too happy to change the subject.

Alastor heard awe in Vox’s voice and his grin split wider across his lips. “Oh, this old thing?” he asked casually, glowing eyes hooded as he brushed a hand along his own collar, watching Vox’s gaze follow his every movement.

“Were you pz-px-planning on doing a phz-phx-photoshoot in my office…?” Vox asked, his grin creeping wide across his screen as he reached up to ghost a glowing claw along Alastor’s shoulder.

“That certainly would garner your attention, wouldn’t it,” Alastor mused.

Vox smirked. “You az-ax-always have my attention, baby.”

“You were just waiting, then?” Alastor tilted his head.

Vox’s screen flickered as he realized what Alastor was implying. He hadn’t contacted Alastor after their date. Not a word--not even after receiving his last photographic calling card. The ball had been in his court and he’d totally dropped it.

“I dz-dx-didn’t want to come on too strong,” he said apologetically.

Alastor peered at Vox. “How unlike you.”

“Imz-mx-magine being in my shoes,” Vox said with a smirk. “Fz-fx-flirting with so much  _ danger… _ ”

“I thought you liked danger.” Alastor smiled.

“Enough to wait for the Rz-Rx-Radio Demon to mz-mx-make his next move..?” Vox replied in a low tone.

Alastor’s smile widened. “One might call that foolish.”

Vox’s gaze flickered down over Alastor’s robe-draped form. “Seems to’ve tz-tx-turned out alright.”

Alastor chuckled. “Do you know why I’m here?”

“To perform your  _ cz-cx-coup de grâce _ ?” Vox advanced on Alastor, his tone dipping even lower.

Those lamplit eyes flickered over Vox’s screen as his heart skipped a beat. Had Vox seen through him? A low little laugh came soft and radio-tender from his throat. “Your French is terrible, darling,” he said softly, gaze gone demure.

“Whz-whx-why _ are _ you here, Az-Ax-Alastor?” Vox asked warmly, lifting a hand to brush Alastor’s hair from his cheek.

Although Vox had advanced upon him, he hadn’t touched him. Even tracing over the shoulder of his robe, this brush of his hair, was so feather-light as to almost not be there. Just close enough for Alastor to feel the interplay of their frequencies, the not-quite-there touch of their unlike fields.

“Is it rz-rx-really to take another pz-px-picture for my collection..?” Vox asked, lifting a brow. “Hmm… whz-whx-why wait for me to az-ax-arrive, then?”

Alastor pushed against Vox’s chest, reestablishing several inches between them. He eased himself against the edge of the desk, fingers curling around the edge, all too aware of the figure he struck. “How could I pass up the opportunity to see your reaction for myself?” Alastor asked, an impish smile tugging at his lips.

Vox did not disappoint. For all his confidence in his position in the game, even playing the game on his own turf, he was all but agape at the sight of Alastor. The radio demon’s lean frame was stripped of his usual layers, yet the singular layer he wore still left much to the imagination.  _ Keep them wanting more,  _ in spades.

Vox didn’t realize his breath had been caught in his throat until he expelled a quiet sigh and met those eyes watching him. He knew that look--a gaze that missed nothing. “If I dz-dx-didn’t know better, I’d think you mz-mx-missed me…” he said as he tucked his hands into his pockets.

Alastor’s easy composure belied the tension threaded just beneath the surface, that anticipation of Vox’s touch. As the other passed before him and those hands slid out of view, it felt as if that tension had been plucked, an empty note ringing through him. He felt  _ robbed  _ of that touch.

“You’re hard to miss, darling,” Alastor told him patiently. “I see your face everywhere I look.”

“Ah, the sz-sx-struggles of being in love,” Vox sighed sympathetically as he rounded Alastor, leaning against the desk beside him.

Alastor’s jaw tightened, but he merely laughed and shook his head. “Is that what it is?” he drawled. “It has nothing to do with your insufferable need to be on display at all times?”

“That’s just wz-wx-work, babe,” Vox said smoothly. “I’m not the oz-ox-one who’s been shz-shx-showing an  _ uncharacteristic desire  _ for bz-bx-being on display…”

Alastor could feel Vox’s current humming along his skin, separated by a paltry barrier of cloth and a whisper of space. A channel-tune hum buzzed quietly from him as he tipped his head toward Vox.

The air between them was electric, far more so than Alastor had expected. He had come prepared to strike the final blow, to cinch his victory and reveal the game for what it was. And yet, he found himself caught up in the game. He didn’t want it to end--not just yet.

Alastor lifted a hand, allowed his claws to walk their way up Vox’s chest. He could feel the hum of Vox’s excitement on his fingertips, and yet--the media overlord showed such restraint. “Perhaps it is love…” he said lightly. “Although…” His tone dipped low as his fingers crept up toward Vox’s bowtie, sharp claws hooking slowly under the knot. “I think it might be better described as…  _ envie. _ ”

Vox swallowed against the fingers tucked between his tie and his throat. His own claws scraped against the desk, hungry to feel that lithe, richly dressed frame stood so temptingly beside him. But he abstained. The anticipation made victory taste all the sweeter.

“I thought thz-thx-this wasn’t jz-jx-just a sex thing.” Vox’s low, husky voice was edged with static, his amusement genuine.

“Hmm… what I do with you…” Alastor’s eyes traveled over Vox, the corner of his mouth curling with dark promise. “This  _ envie _ … hardly qualifies as  _ just sex. _ ”

Alastor’s fingers bobbed against the deep breath that rose in Vox’s chest, and he tugged him closer. That  _ craving  _ wasn’t just part of the game. Vox was  _ keeping  _ it from him,  _ worsening  _ that gnawing in his chest.

“I have a qz-qx-question for you, Alastor…” Vox murmured.

Alastor’s features were painted stark by the proximity of Vox’s screen glow, ruby red eyes glittering, absorbing all that glow. “Go on,” he breathed, claws tightening on that knot of silk.

“Can I touch you?”

Alastor’s eyelids flickered, his smile frozen by the question. Even with the satisfaction of his carnal desires at his very fingertips, Vox showed him something that had always been there, always at the core of things: respect. Alastor had never wanted so badly to be touched. His eyelids fluttered low over his crimson gaze. “Yes,” he said, quiet, voice suddenly hoarse.

Vox’s hand lifted from the desk, but instead of going to his waist, to his bare chest, to those tempting thighs, where Alastor expected his perverted touch, they came up to his face. Alastor found his jaw cradled in Vox’s large claws, felt his thumb press against his lips. The buzz of electricity was tangible, but different than it had been--different than when Vox’s unmasked lips had touched his own.

Alastor wondered what Vox was playing at, touching his face, tracing his lips like that. He was wary of how close Vox’s dangerous claws were to his throat--but that only intensified the thrill, made him move into that touch.

“I mz-mx-missed these lips…” Vox murmured, his gaze picked out in pixels heavy with desire. “Give us a kz-kx-kiss.”

Alastor smirked and kissed the broad thumb against his lips. His fingers traced along the back of Vox’s neck. Wires greeted his fingers, running from the mount of Vox’s head down under his collar. The promise of having Vox weak and trembling under his touch was so close Alastor could almost taste it.

The radio demon leaned backward as he pulled Vox closer, a whisper of coat against his barely covered thighs as he eased back to perch on the edge of the desk. “A kiss would be wasted on this plastic,” Alastor breathed.

“Pz-px-plenty of me that’s not plastic, babe,” Vox said readily.

Alastor’s brows narrowed. “Crass,” he sneered quietly. “I want to kiss the man behind the screen…” His gaze softened, composed into that heavy-lidded look he knew would have Vox eating out of his palm, those devilish fingers stroking along sensitive cables.

“Is thz-thx-that what you want?” Vox asked as one hand dropped to Alastor’s thigh. He found purchase on the fine fabric and hitched Alastor more firmly onto his desk, hooking that leg on his hip.

Alastor choked back his intake of breath, claws tightening on the back of Vox’s neck. His body betrayed him, drawn toward that current. Vox lit something within him, a trigger that nothing else touched. His fingers itched to rip out those cables, to dig the transistor right from his flesh--but in the same breath, he craved  _ this. _

Vox saw right through Alastor’s performance. They had done this dance once before, seen each other stripped and laid bare. The layers peeled away more easily now. Alastor did crave him--perhaps even for this kind of debauched depravity--but beneath it, there was something more. A special kind of bloodlust smoldering just beneath the surface.

This was his chance. Alastor wouldn’t strike the final blow until he had lulled him into a false sense of security, sucked him dry, one last time. This was his opportunity to cinch his own victory. His part was easy. Just fall into Alastor’s arms, give in to his own desire. The cameras were already rolling. He had Alastor right where he wanted him.

“You cz-cx-can’t fool me, Alastor…” Alastor’s knees were against his hips, tempting him. Such a performance. His eyes narrowed, every pixel focused on Alastor. “Yz-yx-you’re not here for  _ this, _ ” Vox said, pressing his hips between Alastor’s. “You nz-nx-never were.”

Vox’s hand slid around Alastor’s throat. A cold shiver down Alastor’s spine, no less electric with desire than the closeness of that electrified frame. The air between them shifted, stained not just with that frisson, but with a stark honesty that cut through the charming spell.

Vox’s curiosity got the best of him. He had to know. “What  _ wz-wx-was _ you plan all along, baby?” he purred. “What cz-cx-could you want so  _ bz-bx-badly  _ that you would…  _ debz-bx-base  _ yourself like this?”

With Vox’s claws like a threat on his throat, his own curled dangerously around those cables in equally threatening reply, Alastor felt he was balanced precariously. Now was the moment to strike. To use his privileged knowledge and wreck the insufferable overlord who had been nothing but a nuisance all these years.

But then what?

Vox was prepared for a fight. He was not prepared for silence. 

_ Then what? _

With Vox gone, ripped from his powerful pedestal, torn asunder--

_ Then what? _

He would rule the airwaves, unchallenged. Unparalleled once more. No more obnoxious broadcasts, no more curated violence and pornography and entertainment blasted on every screen. Just noise. Just noise and chaos on every station, and every Sinner strapped to their radios, waiting for his next broadcast with bated breath.

Supremacy--was that what Alastor wanted? When had he  _ ever  _ wanted  _ that _ ? Power and prestige was a fool’s game. What he thrived on was  _ entertainment. _

He had spent less than two decades in Hell before Vox arrived, and even in that time he had become bored. The very thing that Alastor despised about Vox--this  _ modern man  _ always chasing the cutting edge of technology--was the very thing that had kept Alastor entertained all these years.

It was Vox. It had always been Vox.

“Do you want to dz-dx-destroy me? Is that it?” Vox asked in a patronizing tone. Alastor’s silence was even more unnerving than his usual endless barrage of quips.

“If I wanted to destroy you,” Alastor murmured, surprised by the softness of his voice, even as he gripped tightly at Vox’s neck, thumb anchored just below where screen met flesh, “I would have done so already…”

“Hahahz-hx-ha! You cz-cx-couldn’t destroy me if you  _ tried, _ ” Vox breathed in rash excitement. The veil was lifting, true intentions revealed in the contrast of darkness and screen glow, and yet the charged air between them was no less sensual, that magnetism no less carnal.

“Would you care to test that theory?” Alastor asked with a flash of mad eyes. “Just what would become of you if I parted your transistor from your spine…?”

The danger was addictive. Vox was almost painfully aroused, and from their close embrace, there was no question that Alastor was too. “I dz-dx-don’t think your vintage tech can hz-hx-handle a surge like that, oz-ox-old mz-mx-man…”

A static buzz rose in the air, the hum of warming vacuum tubes, a thrill of excitement that warped the space between them. Alastor’s grin was ripped wide across his face, feeding on the animosity between them, on the tension of muscles and claws.

The hum reached a peak, then cascaded into tuning noise, trailing off, dimming into a warbling chuckle. “Perhaps another day…” Alastor sighed, arms softening like those of a dancer, his other hand gracing Vox’s shoulder.

Vox was taken aback. “You…  _ do  _ want me,” he said quietly. His grin was frozen in place, but his pixels flickered with suspicion. “Az-ax-admit it,” he demanded, tightening his grip on that throat as if he could squeeze the words out of him.

“Was there ever any question…?” Alastor asked, smooth smile undisturbed by the tension around his throat. If anything, that violent grip encouraged it.

Vox laughed. “You  _ kz-kx-know  _ what I mean,” he sneered, claws digging into Alastor’s thigh. Electricity danced over his suit as Alastor responded in kind with claws digging into his neck. 

“More than anything I’ve ever wanted in my after-life, darling,” Alastor said, laying the performance on thick.

Alastor felt a jolt against his throat a split second before Vox shoved him down onto the desk. The radio demon’s own sharp nails raked against the back of Vox’s neck, missing those perilous cables, but enough to draw a growl out of Vox, eyes blazing red.

“Cz-cx-cut the shz-shx-shit, Alastor,” Vox hissed, grin blown wide across his screen. “I lz-lx-love a game once I know there iz-ix-is one! So tz-tx-tell me--whz-whx-what stakes are we pz-px-playing for, baby?”

Alastor had seen Vox at his most cruel, his most ruthlessly violent. And, in more recent memory, he had seen him poised, cultivated; downright charming. But it was a very rare occasion indeed, perhaps this a most unique and singular moment, to experience both at the same time.

“You’re smarter than you look, darling,” he purred through a grin.

“Dz-dx-despite what you  _ still  _ bz-bx-believe, I don’t think pz-px-purely with my dick.”

Alastor’s gaze went half-mast. “Remains to be seen,” he muttered, shifting his hips just-so.

“Whz-whx-what do you wz-wx-want from me?” Vox blurted out.

The honest, almost vulnerable, question hung in the air between them like a curse.

“You dz-dx-don’t want me dead, I know you sz-sx-sure as hell don’t wz-wx-want to work for me--” --Alastor scoffed, proving Vox’s point-- “but whz-whx-what’s the point of this?” he demanded. The game was getting away from him. He wasn’t thinking straight. He wasn’t following the plan.

“Are you not… entertained?” Alastor asked. Even he knew the words sounded thin.

“Whz-whx-what do you want, Alastor?” Vox snapped.

Each time the question weighed upon him heavier and heavier. The answer would be squeezed out of him eventually. Or, there was the alternative: he could leave. He could vanish in a whisper of shadows and simply pretend none of this ever happened. Who would believe Vox’s word against his own? Who would  _ dare  _ to defy his word? And, more to the point--what did it matter? In another decade, no one would even remember the one night the Radio Demon had performed cabaret for a blip of a moment on broadcast television, or the rumors that his rivalry with the television overlord had, for a brief period, been less than contentious.

But Vox would know. Vox would remember.

“Is thz-thx-that all this is?” Vox scoffed. “You wz-wx-went to all this tz-tx-trouble on a lark? For a lz-lx-laugh?” Why did that  _ hurt _ ?

Alastor found an opportunity, a moment of weakness in Vox’s grip, and managed to rip the hand away from his throat. The Overlord’s elbow crashed into the desk, bringing him down on top of the radio demon. Vox’s words rattled around emptily in his head, drowned out by a sharp, dead note of shrieking static.

The streak of pain in Vox’s chest was cut by that shriek of static refusal, by the look in Alastor’s eyes, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “What do you want…?”

Alastor heard that voice past the filter. Almost human, yet still hoarse with static. Something that would never be human, yet something no one else could hear. That small voice of a damned soul within the machine. The voice of a constant in his afterlife. A voice he had known longer than he had been alive. 

That question threatened to suck the air out of Alastor’s lungs, scratched through his throat like a record needle. This was the moment--his victory--but the wind was ripped from his sails to hear Vox  _ ask  _ him what he wanted. He was stunned. Unprepared. Unreheared. Blood dripped from Vox’s neck, staining his shirt. Alastor’s own blood oozed hot from where he’d torn Vox’s claw from his throat. The heat between their bodies was unbearable, the clash of frequencies thick in the air.

It should have been easy to say what he wanted. He had played this game perfectly, acquired everything he needed to crush Vox under his thumb. He had Vox’s weak point within his grasp. He even had Vox  _ asking  _ for his terms.

His surrender was sweet, yet unsatisfactory. This was not how he wanted Vox. He wanted Vox to challenge him, to tear at him, to threaten to rip him apart.

There was a challenge in that question. What  _ did  _ Alastor want? His body ached--for Vox, much to his chagrin. He wanted Vox to fuck him raw, fill him with that sensation he had never craved from anyone else. He wanted Vox to tease him with the word  _ Valentine,  _ to wreak havoc not in spite of him, but  _ for  _ him. He wanted Vox at his beck and call, but not as some servant. He wanted  _ Vox,  _ powerful Overlord, overconfident and cocksure, obnoxious and insufferably modern, his utter opposite--just like that. He didn’t want anything to change.  _ This  _ was what he wanted.

The thought assaulted him unbidden, disgusted him. What had become of him to want to keep things the way they were? No--not the way they were, but the way they had become.

“I want to take my leave,” Alastor said stiffly.

Vox balked. “Wz-wx-what?” he asked, a hum of static.

Alastor looked at Vox with wary sharpness as he began to rise from the desk. Vox acquiesced, allowed him to rise.

“Shall we call it a draw?”

Vox didn’t understand Alastor’s reedy tone, his tired eyes.

“I’m ox-oz-offering you a deal,” Vox said, his incredulity muted by his disappointment.

Alastor sighed. “It’s a draw. A stalemate. Surely you understand what I mean.”

Vox’s eyes narrowed. He couldn’t read Alastor at all. The radio demon was coldly composed, his expression vacant and incongruous with the tempting visage of his barely-clothed frame.

“Are you… az-az-afraid?” Vox laughed; perish the thought that the radio demon was afraid of anything, least of which the very thing that had seemed his ultimate goal.

Alastor grinned at him with such derision, Vox chose his next words carefully.

“Hasn’t it az-ax-always been a stalemate?” Vox mused. “Mutually az-ax-assured destruction…” He lifted a hand to touch Alastor’s chin and found his wrist snapped up in a bone-crushing grip. Undeterred, he leaned toward the radio demon, “If you want me…”

“I don’t want you.”

The sharp, unhesitating rejection stung. It chilled the fire lit within him by the challenge of Alastor, the competitive nature of the balance of power between them.

“Will you not let me leave?” Alastor asked coolly.

Vox was frozen in his disappointment. Now, more than ever, he should have fought Alastor. He could have taken what was his, what had been dangled before him. He had the lever to turn the tides on this arrangement, all the ammunition he needed. It would be so easy to slam Alastor down onto his desk and take his revenge for the lies and schemes. He could so easily ruin him.

But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not like this.

“You cx-cz-can leave.” Vox’s hand slackened in Alastor’s grip.

The radio demon’s eyelids lifted a fraction. The static buzz of impending destruction cut short in his throat. He felt a flutter in his black heart. Pity? A fool to the very end. He released Vox’s wrist and snapped his fingers, doing away with the seductive robe and replacing it with his usual attire.

“Let’s put all this silly nonsense behind us,” Alastor cleared the air with his usual bravado. “It was a fine game.”

Vox was buffeted by Alastor’s crisp voice and took a few steps back. “... A fz-fx-fine game.”

“Until next time, Overlord Vox,” Alastor said with a shallow bow.

As the radio demon’s grin flickered and disappeared in a lick of shadows and static, Vox muttered, “Bz-bx-be seein’ you.”

Alone, empty-handed, Vox sank heavily into his chair. He stared listlessly into space as he heard the harsh sound of an obsolete machine crying in the darkness. He didn’t even bother getting up, merely lifted his hand and summoned the print-out along the hyper-charged static in the air of his office.

A photograph. Of Alastor. Sultry and waiting for him, seated in the very chair that he now occupied. Alastor had already done what he came to do. But he’d stayed. Waited. To see him.

Why did he have to open his big fucking mouth?


	13. Vox's Takeover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vox takes his _unresolved business_ with Alastor to the airwaves. The game isn't quite over yet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **HALT!! BEFORE YOU HOP IN--**  
>  This is an extra special chapter. There have been songs throughout this work, but this chapter has an entire _playlist_ to go with it, curated specially, a love/hate letter from Vox to Alastor.
> 
> I've built the playlist on both [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4W9tuyGSPMxuO7Th4Vyah9?si=w9r95DyrRYivzshiGudrjQ) and on [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLdQicnKWS_OZFgdlRqCHDr7M0OtWnkCzM). If you're listening via Youtube, just make sure you have Autoplay turned on.
> 
> When you see the ▶ in the text, start the playlist on your platform of choice. The songs should sync up perfectly as you read along, but there are also lyrics in-line to help keep time.
> 
> _Enjoy ~_

“What do you mean he  _ left _ ?” Valentino sat up sharply.

“Whx-whz-what did I just say?” Vox muttered in a forced, bored tone. “Hz-hx-he blacked out the Tx-Tz-Tower and fuckin’ voodoo’ed hz-hx-his way out.” He left out the bit about the black out being  _ his  _ doing rather than actually caused directly by Alastor’s hand. It was still Alastor’s fault.

Valentino looked at Vox incredulously. “Vox,  _ baby, _ ” he sneered. “You losin’ your touch?” He sighed and sat back. “You were supposed to seal the deal!” Shaking his head, Valentino picked up his phone. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

Vox’s eyes snapped to one side of his screen to look at Valentino. “Don’t forget who controls the az-ax-airwaves,” he reminded the pimp in a low voice.

Valentino looked doubtfully at Vox. “Don’t send a fucking producer to do a director’s job,” he sighed. He thumbed rapidly on his phone.

“What’re you doin’?” Vox asked.

“Plan B. We can still work with what we got.”

Vox felt the rejection stinging in his chest like a wire torn and frayed. He’d been played--and at what cost? This horrible  _ want  _ sitting in his chest, festering like a wound. Alastor had wielded his raw magnetism like a weapon, used his charm like a honed blade, and eviscerated him without even touching his vitals.

That last meeting left him baffled. Alastor had taken  _ nothing  _ from him. Even a treacherous deal would have been preferable to this vacancy. Now they were back to their respective corners, nothing gained. What was the  _ point _ ? Was this part of Alastor’s plan?

“Since you let him escape,” Valentino said sharply. Vox had been too quiet, too lost in thought ever since this nonsense started. “We’ll have to smoke him out. Make him come to us. Again. And this time, we’ll make sure there’s no room for errors on your part.” He smiled nastily.

Vox’s shoulders stiffened, the scowl displayed obvious on his screen. Valentino was forgetting his place… They may have been business partners for decades, but Valentino was a fool if he thought he could tell Vox what to do.

But, ever the businessman, Vox adjusted his scowl into a mean smile. “Lx-lz-let’s hear it, then, Val. Gimme the px-pz-pitch.”

“And  _ nz-nx-now,  _ for something cx-cz-completely different!”

Alastor jerked upright in his chair as his recording booth was suddenly flooded by the sound of the Overlord’s brash, glitching voice. His ears twitched as his eyes darted over the dials.

“I was gz-gx-gettin’ bored waitin’ for you to come cz-cx-crawlin’ back, Az-Ax-Alastor.”

Vox’s voice was coming loud and clear through  _ Alastor’s  _ frequency. He had commandeered the station and cut Alastor’s broadcast. Instinctive revulsion overpowered the twinge in his breast at hearing Vox say his name. Anger bubbled up,  _ betrayal  _ that Vox would stoop to such disrespect as to invade his frequencies. These were boundaries they  _ never  _ crossed.

“Wz-wx-we have some  _ unfinished business, _ ” Vox said, his voice dipping low and effected. The bass rumbled the very floor beneath Alastor’s feet. He tore from his seat with a ripped grin and stood up, looking out of the windows of the radio tower.

“You kz-kx-know where to find me.”

From the high vantage point, Alastor could see demons and sinners on the street looking around. Vox wasn’t just broadcasting through the radios tuned to Alastor’s station, but through every machine, every television, every speaker throughout the city.

“Just a fz-fx-friendly suggestion--”

Every television in the city flickered from multicolor static to display a large, red “:30.”

“Don’t dawdle ~”

▶ Music began to play--nothing Alastor would have ever remotely considered playing on his frequency. There was a shriek --  _ “It’s a psychobilly freakout!” --  _ and a flood of screaming guitars and a thudding, double-time beat. The horrible noise rivaled the furious screech of static in Alastor’s own head.

“In tx-tz-thirty minutes, you’ll be mx-mz-making your TV debut.”

His  _ TV debut. _ Did Vox really intend to humiliate him? To  _ expose  _ him? To share those private moments? Alastor’s claws dug into his palms as he shot a grim grin across the distance that separated them.

He had miscalculated. He had thought Vox’s possessiveness, his desire to keep those salacious photos and performances all to himself, would override everything. But, he had miscalculated the danger of a jilted lover. Of a broken heart.

“I mz-mx-made you a little mz-mx-mixtape. Just some tz-tx-tunes that remz-mx-mind me of you.”

Vox’s words had haunted him. 

_ What do you want? _

He felt constantly reminded of them by the very nature of his after-life. He ‘lived,’ in a manner of speaking, here in Hell by pursuing that very thing. 

He knew what he wanted. He had known in that moment. But he didn’t dare speak its name. He couldn’t. To name that thing would be to change everything. The game had flirted dangerously with reality, toyed with a possibility that Alastor had never considered before.

Where lay the boundary between obsession and love? What did it mean that he knew his existence would be worsened by Vox’s demise? Lacking,  _ lack-luster,  _ something removed that could never be replaced.

He had slept that night, after seeing Vox as something other than an adversary for the last time. After reestablishing the boundaries. Reasserting the status quo.  _ Rejecting  _ what could have been. He only slept when his mind was too full, and never before had his mind been so full of….  _ Him. _

“Be sz-sx-seein’ ya soon, little Valentine.”

Alastor tore from the recording booth, doors slamming open before him as he made his way down, down the flights of stairs. His mind was accosted by Vox. The guitars and vocals howled, reverberated through the walls and floors, though his very skull. At the core, in his mind’s eye, was that grinning face. Revoltingly charming, too-much enjoying himself, beckoning him.

And he would take the bait. He had no other choice. His grin ripped wider as he arrived at the base of the tower, on the street raucous with Vox’s piped piper tune, that awful noise grating at his nerves. 

Demons stood rooted in place as the air sizzled with static, radiating from the radio demon as his radio tower broadcast a pirated signal. The poor by-standers didn’t know whether it was better to flee, or to remain still in hopes that the red-eyed radio demon wouldn’t see them.

He stared out over the city at the distant Network Building gleaming like a beacon. His eyes narrowed.

No. He would not ‘take the bait.’ He would  _ hunt Vox down. _ Guitar strings growled and shrieked as Alastor’s pulse picked up to that driving beat. With a flick of his wrist, he dismissed his microphone staff. He could feel a disturbance in the air, in the frequencies. Vox had flooded all of Pentagram City, glutted the very airwaves with his static, lit every screen full blast, pumped his wicked current through every wire.

Just as Vox could descend the city into darkness, he could light all the dark corners and strip back the shadows. He would have to go on foot. How  _ exciting. _

A peal of manic, furious laughter drowned out the opening line of the next song. The lyrics trailed after him as he ripped down the street. 

> _ You've got a bad reputation, that's what you got.  _
> 
> _ A bad reputation but I like it a lot.  _

The demons in his wake were lucky to be left with only their breath taken away. The Radio Demon rarely went on such a vicious tear unless a bloody broadcast was on the menu. But all of Pentagram City had heard Vox’s taunts, were audience to his little pirate radio ‘mixtape.’ No one wanted to be caught in this path of destruction, this clash between the two media moguls.

The jaunty jangle assaulted Alastor on all sides. Pentagram City was rife with speakers, which typically only saw use right before the Extermination, one final warning to ring in the new year before the angels descended. The pitch wavered and distorted as Alastor sped past.

> _ A bad reputation (bad reputation!) _
> 
> _ A bad reputation (bad reputation!) _
> 
> _ You're a bad little chick and that's the word on the street _
> 
> _ You're the kind of girl I'd like to eat _

Alastor’s form was dark, shot through with ragged scarlet, more shadow than man. A jagged bolt of darkness in the city brimming with light, eyes aglow as they remained steadily fixed on his goal.

He would be at the television tower in no time, and he wouldn’t bother parsing words with Vox. This was true aggression. Vox had never dared commandeer his frequencies--much the same as Alastor had never bothered with his. These were the turf lines that had existed since the beginning, when Vox had worn that top-heavy CRT monitor atop his shoulders.

Alastor had given it some thought--the circumstances of their next meeting. He had imagined Vox might return to backhanded compliments from his own broadcasts, or some underhanded attempt to earn his ire--and attention--once more. Well, Vox certainly had his attention.

_ Bad reputation… _

Was this some threat, some reminder, of just what Vox had the power to do? Alastor looked forward to laughing in his face if he thought he suddenly held power over him simply because he thought he could ruin his reputation.

Or… was it his  _ bad reputation  _ that Vox truly did admire? Were these meant to actually be lovesongs? Perhaps Vox foolishly thought he could somehow win him back through song and they could both ‘work this out.’ Ha! Alastor did not take kindly to such brutish threats. Blackmail and frequency-border disputes did not endear him, nor did Vox’s taste in music.

And yet, just as his shadow form threatened to overtake his physical one, so was his smoldering anger with Vox tainted with excitement. Vox had raised the stakes yet again, and Alastor would only be too happy to call.

The radio demon slammed hard around the next corner, onto one of the main arms of the pentagram. Just as sharply as he took the corner, he was stopped short. A wall of static burned and sizzled against the aura of his shadow. As he drew back to clear his head and face the nigh-invisible barrier, he heard laughter ringing in his ears.

> _ Well I'm gonna put your head _
> 
> _ On my wall _
> 
> _ Just like I told you baby _
> 
> _ You can't got no more _
> 
> _ You can't eat no more _
> 
> _ Eat no more hot dogs _

Alastor lifted a hand and touched the barrier. A sharp crack of distortion bloomed across the screen-like membrane, and for a moment, Alastor saw a shadow of that damned face. The burning irritation in his chest flickered, then caught like a match and seared brighter.

A strong electromagnetic field; condensed frequency that would jam his own if he tried to force his way through it. He wouldn’t be able to travel through on his shadows alone. With any luck, the damage he did to these forcefields would travel back to their source.

“Ah, ah, ah ~” Vox’s voice spoke over the track as laughter scratched through the air. “I mz-mx-made this little mx-mx-mix just for you, bz-bx-buddy.”

> _ Come on baby don't you be late _
> 
> _ I want your head I want it tonight _
> 
> _ Cut your head off at half past eight _
> 
> _ And have it on my wall about half past ten _

“Why dz-dx-don’t ya slow down a bit, bz-bx-baby? Yx-yz-you still have twenty-four minutes.”

The radio demon sneered at the television tower still looming territories away as Vox’s playlist demanded his head. Alastor was reviled as he wondered, just for a moment, what kind of ‘head’ Vox had in mind when he picked this song. Ugh. That vile television demon’s corruption was worse than he thought.

His glowing eyes moved about the street, pinpointing every surveillance camera. He was well aware of their locations, and he knew Vox was watching.

Oh, and he would  _ give  _ Vox a show worth watching. Giddy laughter giggled over the airwaves as Alastor surveyed the resources at his disposal. Vox’s modern technology had never held a candle to his blood magic. 

Although his flight through the streets had alerted the poor denizens of Pentagram City that the Radio Demon was on the prowl, and Vox’s cocky summons promised he was out for blood, Sinners were not known for their self-preservation skills. Apparently they thought there wouldn’t be any collateral damage in the clash between the two broadcasters. Alastor almost pitied such worthless Sinners.

Well, they would find  _ some  _ purpose in the after-life by his hands.

As the obnoxious laughter faded away and a rapid-groaning guitar started up again at that tell-tale tempo, Alastor allowed the tension to leave his body. No--not totally leave it, but coalesce and gather in his core, leave him loose and ready as a dancer before a performance.

> _ I've got chicks to the left, women to the right _
> 
> _ Guess who it is I think about at night _
> 
> _ It's you, yeah you, it's you _
> 
> _ Baby you know who _

Alastor looked left and right. Plenty of prey to make use of. With a shadow-skip to the left, he grabbed a Sinner who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time--well, from their perspective. Alastor ripped their throat open with his claws, blood spraying in an elegant arc above him. An imp cowered on the other side of the street, and within seconds, met a similar fate.

Alastor’s bloody grin spread wide as he painted the barrier with ancient sigils as familiar to him as friends. The music all around sang to Vox’s singular obsession.  _ You, you, you.  _ Alastor felt some sick glee that he still consumed Vox, even worse now than before. But that glee would not save Vox from his wrath.

> _ You-know-who, it's you I still love _
> 
> _ I want you back and I pray to the lord above _
> 
> _ Stop playing silly games _
> 
> _ I don't have to say your name _

The electric signal began to crack and shatter under the strain of the physical manifestation of Alastor’s magic. With a whining shriek of static, the barrier fizzled and degraded into pixels. Alastor felt that thrum of power seeping into his claws, a fresh rush to fuel the fire burning within him as he dismissed the last of the pixels scattering like ash in the air. 

Now that the radio demon was aware that traps awaited him, he quelled his fervor, concentrated it into a sharp focus on the street ahead. Knowing what to look for, he saw the shimmer of static stacked at regular intervals down the main Pentagram boulevard, like a snowcrash mirage before him.

Alastor’s eyes darted to the conspicuous screens stacked in a storefront to his left. Vox’s visage winked at him, then displayed the count-down clock. Twenty-one minutes to go. Plenty of prey ahead, trapped between the barriers. These Sinners knew their doomed fate. Alastor could smell the reek of fear coming off them, a rank bouquet of adrenaline and terror.

> _ I want you back _
> 
> _ I need you real bad _
> 
> _ You’re the best damn lover I ever had _

That  _ rush  _ Alastor felt, the anger, the betrayal, the lust for violence, a hunger that clawed at something even deeper than his usual insatiable curse--it was a cocktail only Vox could inspire in him. Even his own thirst for destruction was fueled by a want for entertainment. Something to salve the boredom. Vox never bored him.

Vox had even proved  _ more  _ than entertaining. Alastor had actually enjoyed himself. Pity it had to come to this.

To the tune of an insufferably driving guitar line and peaky vocals, Alastor turned the avenue into his own personal canvas. Alastor couldn’t be sure if Vox wanted to utterly obliviate him or force him to confront this  _ thing  _ that has festered and mutated between them.

With a grin, as he danced with another Sinner’s tendons and sinew, he thought perhaps it was both. How fitting. He, too, was fantasizing about putting a glorious, violent end to this  _ will they, won’t they  _ epic they had been writing together for decades.

> _ Well, you know I love you _
> 
> _ But ain’t life a drag? _
> 
> _ I wanna chop you up fine _
> 
> _ And wrap you up in a bag _
> 
> _ Oh, well I’ll see you later, in my refrigerator _
> 
> _ I’m a corpse grinder, baby _
> 
> _ You’ll stay good for months to come _
> 
> _ At the back of the fridge, go on, stay outta the sun _
> 
> _ I’ll take you out when I’m on my own _
> 
> _ And defrost you so we can be alone _

Blood smeared the gutters, ephemeral sigils drawn in viscera dispelling barrier after barrier. The more blood that spilled, the more that  _ hunger  _ in Alastor was heightened. If Vox thought this would tire him, he was sorely mistaken. Indeed, rather than spending his energy, the fresh glut of blood only increased it. His antlers cracked and branched just a bit further with each successive kill.

The silliness of all of this struck Alastor. How very  _ Vox  _ it all was--such spectacle, such an elaborate show. And for what? To prove his love? Surely it was not meant to  _ threaten  _ him. No, no, Alastor realized, this was yet another courtship ritual. Vox’s elaborate mating display. The music meant to titillate, to anger, to annoy, to serenade.

Alastor would give credit where credit was due: he was thoroughly annoyed.

Alas, he only had himself to blame for riling the Overlord up. He should have known what would happen if he courted such an insufferable showman, a performer of the very worst kind, who relied on the set, the lights, the music, the props, more than the actor himself.

And yet, Alastor could not help but applaud himself. As much as he had gambled, he had also, ostensibly, won the game. Just as he had expected, Vox would go to  _ such  _ lengths to win his singular, intimate attention. Even dare to piss him off.

> _ Well I’m a corpse grinder, baby _
> 
> _ Well I’m a corpse grinder, baby, let me feed you in _

As the last punch of lyrics faded away, Alastor stood before the center of the metropolis. Tall buildings speared the blood-red sky, and on a face in every direction, different screens, some cracked and battered, others blinding bright, read the numbers: “:18.”

In contrast with the slow, grinding melody of the song before, the air was now filled with a bright strum. The sound was deafening--even before the drum rush pounded through every speaker in the city. Alastor’s ears were throbbing as he continued his dash toward the Network Tower. Close, now. He would make it long before the time ran out.

> _ A sweet romance is not for me _
> 
> _ I need electricity _
> 
> _ If you wanna make me flip _
> 
> _ Hit me with a micro chip _
> 
> _ I'll be a diode, cathode, electrode _
> 
> _ Overload, generator, oscillator _
> 
> _ Make a circuit with me _

The cheerful lyrics were lost on Alastor as he navigated the central nervous system of Pentagram City. There was no straight shot through the knot of streets and buildings, no order. This made it a difficult territory to claim--by design. The center was Lucifer’s domain, and even Alastor was reticent to cause too much of ruckus on the King’s turf.

But he knew these streets like the back of his hand, like the veins and arteries of a body ready for slaughter. He had walked them many a time, through many decades. He ripped through the streets--this time heedless of how many of Vox’s many watchful eyes saw his passage. This time, he  _ wanted  _ Vox to see.

Now, he approached less familiar territory: the Electric District. Even from the threshold of the main thoroughfare, the music boomed louder, the lights blinded brighter. On principle, he avoided this domain--because it was Vox’s territory, and because he found it insufferable. Nothing was ever set in place. The buildings shifted and transformed, some construction always underway to rebuild and revamp. Nothing, no history, was sacred here.

The television Overlord’s domain was run on a glut of electricity. As if there weren’t enough cameras and screens scattered through the entire city, Vox’s territory was a gleaming spectacle of his electric power. Alastor was sure there would be something special waiting for him beyond the threshold of the Electric District.

Vox did not disappoint. As the chipper strains of “Make a Circuit with Me” faded, Alastor was buffeted by a triple shot of horns that whipped his hair and coat-tails. His claws tensed, poised to strike at his sides as he looked from screen to screen looming in on him from all directions. He was greeted with displays of technicolor monstrosities that hurt his eyes to look at.

> _ I told the witch doctor _
> 
> _ I was in love with you _
> 
> _ I told the witch doctor _
> 
> _ I was in love with you _
> 
> _ And then the witch doctor _
> 
> _ He told me what to do _

Alastor’s eyes widened as a so-called witch doctor, faced painted like a skull, wielding a staff with a vulture’s head, crept across a cartoon landscape to a synthesized beat. His grin split his face, ragged and torn at the edge, devoid of  _ any  _ amusement, as his eyes turned to radio dials. Shadows spiked from him, spearing every screen in sight.

But the horrible racket continued, filled every street before him. Now Vox had really done it. Alastor was beyond offended. Any scrap of mercy or chance at continuing to toy with each other withered away at the offensive parody of spellcasting. He channeled every ounce of frequency through the machines as he dragged vicious tendrils of shadow clean through the buildings. Facades crumbled and fell in his wake.

Cords flung out from the ruined faces of televisions, crept along the crumbling concrete. Alastor’s singular focus was ripping the offending image and noise from every glaring screen. He didn’t notice the cords until they had wrapped him so completely that he was restrained, a barely-held blind fury of rage, forced to endure the spectacle.

> _ You've been keeping love from me _
> 
> _ Just like you were a miser _
> 
> _ And I'll admit I wasn't very smart _
> 
> _ So I went out and found myself _
> 
> _ A guy that's so much wiser _
> 
> _ And he taught me the way to win your heart. _

The strains of the insulting parody were drowned out by a roar of static and crackle of bone as Alastor’s form grew and changed. His muscles and bones stretched and distended, tearing flesh and cloth. Cords snapped from his bones, torn by the raw power of Alastor’s horrible, unfurling demonic form.

Alastor’s grinning smile stretched wider and wider, jaw falling open as if unhinged. That terrible maw snapped at the cables, kissed with electricity that drew a moan of hunger and devious excitement from the beast within. Some dark, deep-seated desire could not forget the  _ electric  _ connection he’d had with Vox when they had claimed each other. The ferocious, painful current fired through him, ignited that passion--but now his focus was upon ripping that proud fool apart just one last time. To strip him bare of not just his clothes, but of his muscles and nerves and circuits. He would make Vox his plaything, but the fool was  _ sure  _ not to enjoy it this time. 

Vox would pay for this mockery. This courtship ritual was a sham. The intent was nothing short of humiliation through and through.

Alastor’s fury was no longer concentrated. It had bloomed, filled and built his wretched, monstrous form. His face was recognizable only for the mane of red and black and those glowing radio dial eyes, and his form was no longer human. His neck had become thick and elongated, stretching from narrow shoulders above an emaciated skeleton of a frame. His poised bipedal form now more closely resembled that of a starved, emaciated stag with claws in place of hooves.

The burn of true magic wafting off his terrible form aborted further attempts from the electric cables to restrain Alastor as he cut a scar of destruction through the district. Not even the change in music could soothe this savage beast.

> _ I heard you on the wireless back in fifty two _
> 
> _ Lying awake intent at tuning in on you _
> 
> _ If I was young it didn't stop you coming through _

The noises that came from Alastor as he rammed and speared screens and Sinners alike with his rack of horns were nothing short of  _ animal.  _ But worse--he would  _ laugh. _ That beyond-comprehension visage still laughed and smiled, but with a gut-wrenching hollowness, fangs clattering like bones.

But one line, beating over and over, made it through to Alastor, even in his madness:

> _ Video killed the radio star _
> 
> _ Video killed the radio star _
> 
> _ Pictures came and broke your heart _

Did Vox have any idea what Alastor was going to do to him when he found him? Alastor would show him just how  _ broken  _ his heart could be.

> _ And now we meet in an abandoned studio  _
> 
> _ We hear the playback and it seems so long ago _
> 
> _ And you remember the jingles used to go  _

The Electric District was a blur around Alastor. His  _ mind  _ was a blur of rage and madness. He had fed his bloodlust, and there was naught but artificial bodies before him. His claws snagged on screens, scattering broken glass and plastic as cables snaked from alleys and storm drains to hobble his progress.

Was this what Vox wanted? To see him furious for his sake? To bare that monstrous power that promised his destruction?

> _ We can't rewind we've gone too far _

Alastor was buzzing with power, literally and figuratively electrified as he wrecked facsimile after facsimile of his jilted lover. He cast a terrible, skeletal darkness over the streets of Vox’s territory, shadows licking over the sizzle of current that oozed from every possible digital orifice.

Only Vox could drive him to  _ this  _ kind of madness. There was nothing to feed his insatiable hunger for flesh and viscera--not  _ here,  _ not before he reached the TV demon himself. Alastor  _ knew  _ just how artificial Vox was. The modern man may have presented himself as more machine than flesh, but Alastor  _ knew  _ just how soft, how  _ vulnerable,  _ that flesh truly was.

Vox was bound to his machine head, thrumming with static just beneath his skin--but he  _ was  _ made of skin. His muscles were just as fragile as any Sinner. His bones could be broken. It might burn all the way down, but Alastor could consume him.

> _ We can't rewind we've gone too far _
> 
> _ Pictures came and broke your heart _
> 
> _ Put the blame on VCR _

Alastor was the one consumed. Consumed by one thought and one thought alone: Vox.

Vox.

_ Vox. _

_ VOX. _

Alastor arrived at the foot of the Network Building a heaving, bloodied monstrosity. The hum of static rolling off of him in waves was almost loud enough to drown out the chorus.

“ _ Video killed the rz-rx-radio star, _ ” Vox’s voice came over the broadcast, singing along. “Az-ax-almost there, bz-bx-buddy.” His voice echoed for miles. “With tx-tz-ten minutes to spare.” The chorus continued in the background, high pitched and grating.

> _ Video killed the radio star _
> 
> _ Video killed the radio star _

“Thx-thz-that is… if you can rz-rx-reach me in ten minutes.”

> _ You are a radio star ~ _
> 
> _ Video killed the radio star _

Vox’s singing visage looked down at Alastor’s terrible form from high above, broadcast on a screen that rivaled even Alastor’s size.

> _ You are a radio star ~ _
> 
> _ Video killed the radio star _

The doors to the tower flew open with a brush of Alastor’s distended, bone-like claws. His body creaked and mutated to tear inside on spectral shadows, and he was immediately faced with a regiment of Vox’s television-headed goons. Their power was paltry in comparison to the Overlord, hardly worthy of Alastor expending the full might of his ravenous full demon form.

Alastor shredded through them as if they were made of paper to the drumming of a synthesized beat. The songs were growing increasingly modern and ear-splitting the closer he drew to the Overlord. As he scrabbled, half-man half-monster, through the corporate lobby of the Network Building, he condensed his fury, retracted from the brink of madness.

> _ Baby, baby, baby  _
> 
> _ You are my Voodoo Child, my Voodoo child _

Alastor wanted to be  _ present  _ when he finally parted Vox’s raw current, that festering static, from his flesh harness. But he still had fervor to burn, and oh-so many more almost-Voxes to dispatch before he reached his main course.

> _ You're like Voodoo baby you just take hold _
> 
> _ Put your cards on the table baby, do I twist, do I fold? _

Alastor was a third less the monster he had been on the second floor, but still wreaking destruction at full power.

> _ You're like Voodoo honey, all silver and gold _
> 
> _ Why don't you tell me my future, why don't I sell you my soul? _

As Alastor pounded up the next flight of stairs, the music shrank. He could hear blood pulsing in his ears.

> _ So here it comes, the sound of drums… _
> 
> _ Here come the drums _
> 
> _ Here come the drums _

To the downbeat burst of sound, Alastor bashed through goon after goon. Each hit beat the beast back into his core, was heralded by the crush of bone and screen of another inferior clone. Alastor’s vision grew clearer, substituted less and less by his more animalistic senses. Vox might drag the beast back out of him again, but he wanted to see the Overlord’s face, enjoy his suffering with all his faculty when he finally reached him.

The drums kept coming, floor after floor. Alastor left naught but destruction in his wake. As he battered and pinged off the walls like a pinball, his terrible demon form retracted by inches. Rags of flesh and cloth dragged and sloughed back onto his bones.

These TV demons were poor imitations of his adversary, but served to feed his fantasies. As he tore through one after another, his desire only grew. Yes, he would want to be in that form that Vox  _ so loved  _ when he finally tore him limb from limb as he did with his men. Oh, but he wouldn’t rush. Not like this.

> _ You've like Voodoo baby, Your kisses are cold _
> 
> _ Feel your poison running through me, let me never grow old _
> 
> _ You're like voodoo honey, my pictures you stole _
> 
> _ You play me like a puppet, sticking pins like a doll _

Vox really knew how to get under his skin, how to bring the demon out in him. That  _ thrill  _ of one who knew him so well, knew how to play his game, colored his anger. As irritating as the vocals blaring from all angles were, they were  _ curated. _ Meant only for him.

There was something to be said for a tailor-made invitation to a death match.

> _ It's supernatural I'm coming undone _

The supernatural was sewing itself back together, transforming a ragged beast back into a well-dressed, dapper dandy-shaped demon. The drums, the thrill, beat back the blind anger. He readjusted his jaw, yellowed teeth gleaming in the glow of the low-res screens of Vox’s seemingly endless parade of lambs to the slaughter.

Oh, but the anger still festered. Vox had insulted him, belittled him, threatened him with ruin. He would  _ enjoy  _ taking his vengeance on his so-called lover. What a  _ display  _ to invite his own demise. 

He was finally freed from the strains of “Voodoo Child” by the time he made it halfway up the sky-scraper. Sweet relief, a sedate, driving beat took hold of the airwaves. The drum beat synced with his heartbeat, the guitar stanzas with his slow, deep breathing.

He took greater pleasure with dispatching the fools on the upper floors. There were fewer and fewer who dared face him. If Vox thought this was going to tire him out, he was sorely mistaken. Alastor was just warming up, just coming to his senses to  _ enjoy  _ the slaughter once more. All Vox had accomplished was whetting his mad bloodlust, fed him a massacre’s worth of souls, and catered to his fury with inane jabs through irritating music.

With a chaotic rally of instruments, Alastor finally stood before Vox’s office. His suit was torn and blood-drenched, mad grin affixed fast. He steadied his breath, bristling with anticipation as horns blew out a beat. Alastor could tell that this broadcast was localized--it was coming only from inside Vox’s office.

The radio demon shoved open the door, raggedly, but utterly, composed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice there are a few more songs after _'D for Dangerous'_. Ponder and percolate on those in anticipation for the next chapter...
> 
> Thanks for reading ~ Follow me [@vol_ctrl](https://twitter.com/vol_ctrl) and send some love to [@kyng_sg](https://twitter.com/kyng_sg) for their fantastic art !!


	14. I Put a Spell On You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastor finally reaches his treacherous beau. _Oh, the things he will do to Vox for the trouble he's caused..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flavor for this chapter is ['I Put a Spell On You'](https://youtu.be/82cdnAUvsw8) by Screamin' Jay Hawkins, and ends with ['It's Time'](https://youtu.be/uV3WcwDzBmA) by Big Sandy & his Fly-Rite Boys, the last two songs from the Vox's Takeover playlist.
> 
> Art provided by the talented [Kyng](https://twitter.com/kyng_sg)!

Vox was in a leather chair, away from his control center, seated, waiting. He did not make a move as Alastor entered, except to smile as he saw the radio demon’s senses jerk and twitch, on high alert.

> _ I put a spell on you… _

“You mz-mx-made it. With a minute to spare.”

“You didn’t really think you could stop me, did you?” Alastor breathed through a hiss of static.

“I kz-kx-knew you’d come…” Vox said confidently as he stood from his chair and straightened his coat. 

> _ Because you’re MINE _

True to form, Alastor had left him wanting. Another play in their long game--a  _ false  _ coup d’etat. Seeing that rabid grin on Alastor’s blood splattered face, there was no question in Vox’s mind that Alastor had expected  _ something  _ from him.

He had well delivered. Vox would not take this rejection lying down. Not after all that Alastor had dangled before him, not after all that had come to pass between them.  _ He  _ would not be the disappointment in this game for two.

In retrospect, Alastor had all but stumbled into that rejection. It felt paltry in comparison to all that had come before it. His poor adversary--struck dumb by his own hand. Vox need only take up the reins of the game, to lead the next movement.

And now, for the moment of truth.

“Whz-whx-what did you think of my pz-px-playlist, sweethz-hx-heart?” Vox asked. “You rz-rx-ran me around enough… Though it was hz-hx-high time I put  _ yz-yx-you  _ through the paces…”

Vox was too much enjoying this. That cocky confidence that Alastor both craved and reviled poured off him in waves. That  _ fool. _ At least he would look handsome in his moments before double-death.

“ _ I put a spell on you, _ ” Vox purred along with Screamin’ Jay Hawkins.

Alastor’s eyes blazed bright. The Overlord had been taunting his Old Ways, needling at him with ignorant references to ‘witch doctors,’ foolish poppy allusions to Voodoo--and now he had the gall to claim  _ he  _ had put a spell on him?

Alastor would show him the true power of old magic.

As the track roared, “ _ because you’re MINE,”  _ a lance-like tendril of shadow hurtled toward Vox. The television demon’s hand lashed out to grab the shadow before it found its mark in his throat. The furious concentration of power, intensified by the drip of Alastor’s own blood from his clenched fist, shredded through Vox’s grip, sparks flying.

Vox let out a guttural growl that rivaled the music as Alastor’s sharp-as-knives shadow pierced through his throat. Alastor’s aim was near-true, spearing him through and through to his transistor--but only enough to crack it. Electricity arced wildly from his wound, scattered from the back of his neck in a spray of current as he fell to his knees.

“You tip the stalemate,” Alastor said as he slowly strode toward Vox to a serenade of horns. The sight of Vox clutching at the thick shadow plunged through his throat pleased him. He was intrigued to see the Overlord choke and gag, black blood like tar spilling from his screen over digital fangs. “You  _ insult  _ me,” Alastor sneered, shoving the shadowy tendril deeper into Vox’s throat. He could feel the television demon trembling from the pain. 

“Why I ever wanted you--” he growled, but was stopped short by the sudden jerk of Vox’s screen. There was a grin plastered on that dripping, glitching screen.

“ _ You did want me, _ ” Vox hissed. His mouth didn’t move, too damaged to render, but a low-quality version of his voice played from some internal speaker.

Alastor struck Vox’s screen sharply with his fist, a brutish, impulsive motion.

“ _ Ha--hxha--haa, _ ” Vox managed through the sweet agony. His vision of Alastor was blurred and cracked through his screen--a pity. Alastor always looked most alluring in his fury. “S-s-stubborn bastard.”

“Was it worth it?” Alastor narrowed his eyes at Vox. “Dying, that is, to prove your point.”

“Ya  _ cz-cx-can’t  _ kILL mE.” Vox’s screen distorted, the colors going negative. “ _ Valentino’s going to… _ ” His voice shrank to nothing, then returned at a deafening volume, “RELEASE THE FEEDS.”

“ _ Valentino… _ ” Alastor’s eyes narrowed. Vox spoke as if his business associate were acting  _ separately. _ Some strange realization, a bizarre notion began to brew within him, visiting again upon some of the lyrics that had been blasted through the airwaves. His eyes widened, though suspicion lingered. “... Why are you telling me this?”

Vox hissed and winced as he tried to control and organize his current, keep his systems functioning despite Alastor’s unrelenting shadow. “Sz-sx-so we can sx-sz-stop him.”

Alastor studied Vox with a critical eye. “You mean to tell me… all this nonsense, commandeering  _ my  _ frequency, forcing me to pursue you, dismantle all your traps, eviscerate your men--was all a ruse to get me here?”

Vox grinned. “A fz-fx-fitting feast for my fx-fz-funny Valentine.”

Alastor gave Vox a bemused smirk and pulled his shadow from Vox’s throat. Before the Overlord could slump forward without the pressure of the shadow to hold him up, Alastor caught him with a palm by throat.

“You have funny notions about courtship rituals, darling… It reads more like a  _ death wish. _ ” Alastor’s eyes blazed as furious radio dials as his voice scratched full of horrible static.

The television demon choked and tensed. His current burned against Alastor’s hand. He could feel blood, Alastor’s or some other demon’s, stinging against the gaping wound in his throat. “I kx-kz-know how to get you… hot and bothered,” Vox teased.

Alastor tightened his grip on Vox’s throat and more of that oily, tar-like blood oozed from Vox’s screen, dripped over his hand. “Why would you want to stop Valentino? He’s your… business associate, is he not?”

Vox squinted up at Alastor. He wished he could see his face better. Even so, he could make out the smear of those glowing scarlet eyes, that ever-present grin just a touch curious. “Bz-bx-because… you’re  _ mine, _ ” he said, static-scratched possessiveness.

Alastor laughed. “Oh, is that what you think?”

Vox could hear the oncoming tirade in Alastor’s lifting voice. He grabbed Alastor’s sleeve, tearing the fabric with his claws. “ _ Just you, _ ” Vox hissed. His screen went black and he cursed. He raised his other hand, fumbled clumsily at the wires from his screen to his transistor. The force of Alastor’s blow had left one of them bent and fused in the socket, the rest a slick mess of blood.

Alastor’s curiosity got the better of him. He released Vox’s throat, and instead took his screen by two hands. With a sharp pull, he tore the screen from the demon’s neck and tossed it aside.

A loud shriek of agonized static that left a high-pitched hum in its wake interrupted the broadcast, sent the track skittering and skipping as the lights in the control room flickered and sputtered. His unmasked form, his static core, was more chaotic than last Alastor had seen it. He could watch a ripple of signal blur and mutate the edge of Vox’s head. A fresh wave of current blistered from his transistor, and the void in his throat shone blue with electricity.

“You think you own me?” Alastor prompted him.

Vox was reeling from the pain, almost losing control of his form, barely held together from his cracked--and now stripped--transistor. His void-mouth dripped pitch, painted his static-form skin black down to where his throat burst with angry bolts.

“ _ I don’t… want to own you, _ ” Vox said, his untempered voice even more horrible than before. It tore through his ragged throat with a flicker of sparks as his claws curled around Alastor’s lapels. “ _ I want you like thisss, _ ” he hissed, grinning through the pain.

> _ I love you! _

“On your knees?” Alastor sneered and trapped Vox’s wrist in a bone-crushing grip. “At my mercy?”

“ _ Hza-hxa-hha _ …” Not only did Vox’s laughter glitch and stutter, but the very outline of his head juddered and spiked, unstable. “ _ Where’s the fun in that? _ ” He pulled Alastor closer, tilting his head up toward the radio demon.

> _ I love you! _

Alastor was struck by the vulnerability Vox showed him. The television demon could have fought back, easily matched his power. He had taken the blows,  _ invited  _ them.

“ _ You’ve had all the chances is Hx-Hz-Hell to killllll me _ ,” Vox purred, voice rough as he gripped Alastor’s other lapel tightly. Alastor resisted the tug, his lip curled as his collar pulled taut against the back of his neck. “ _ What givezxz, Al _ ?”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed on Vox. How tempting Vox looked like this, bloodied and brought low to his knees before him. He found his pulse still pounding, adrenaline racing from the carnage that had brought him here.

Vox had known exactly how to push his buttons. Alastor’s brow furrowed as he smirked down at that void-black smile, even his gleaming fangs darkened and stained with the inhuman blood or bile that seeped from his lips. Vox had so readily made him lose his cool, knew him well enough to really get under his skin. A powerful talent, Alastor had to admit.

The  _ terms  _ Vox claimed… To want  _ him,  _ just as he was… He would not have believed it had Vox not riled him up so. Vox could have plied him with charming words and promised him fine things--superficial things, the normal trappings of some standard courtship. But no. Vox had dared to rile and tease the beast, to remind him of what  _ had been _ in light of what  _ had come to pass. _

Vox didn’t want the fantasy. Perhaps he still wanted to play the game, but not by falsehoods and half measures. He had invited a new game, raised the stakes, shaved away ever more of the  _ illusion  _ between them.

“... You are… more entertaining to me ‘ _ alive’ _ than dead.” Alastor owed him at least that much honesty.

“ _ There it is, _ ” Vox hissed, triumphant. As much of a confession that he could ever hope to receive from Alastor.

Alastor’s lips pulled tight, biting back the uncertainty of ‘what happens now.’ Vox supplied that with a powerful jerk of his hands, dragging Alastor down against his lips. The radio demon almost stumbled, almost broke Vox’s wrist, almost stomped his femur clean in half--but instead he tasted the bitter burn of Vox’s blood, felt those lips consume him with a hunger matched only by his own.

Alastor’s nails dug into Vox’s wrist, but did not stop Vox from raking a hand from lapel up his neck, tangling in his hair. The ferocity stoked that furious fire that had cultivated in him, made him ignore all the warning bells that should have been telling him to kill Vox, or to get away from him, to never trust such a fiend.

He felt a devious brand of relief, an untold satisfaction, beyond what he had expected victory to feel like. Neither had anticipated that spark to be like a match to gasoline, to burn so bright and untamed, to surpass their endless competition for power and hunger for the other’s destruction. Destruction was the allure, the bait that brought them together and fed them.

Alastor shoved Vox’s shoulder to escape the kiss, but the modern Overlord held tight to his hair, keeping him close and drawing a growl from him.

“What of Valentino’s intentions?” Alastor asked, cold despite the fire in his eyes.

“ _ I pz-px-propose a dz-dx-deal... _ ” Vox lilted as his static fazed and broke, a jagged tear cycling through his barely-corporeal form.

Alastor’s grin widened as his eyes narrowed. “You  _ are  _ a glutton for punishment… Haven’t you had enough?” he asked sweetly.

“ _ Equal rz-rx-risk, equal rx-rz-reward, baby. _ ”

Alastor raised a brow, intrigued, as the chaotic static and bloody beat in his brain quieted enough that he could hear the peppy strains from the [last song of the broadcast](https://youtu.be/uV3WcwDzBmA).

> _ Hey, hey _
> 
> _ Whatcha gonna do? _
> 
> _ If fate passes you by? _
> 
> _ And you get left alone, wonder why? _
> 
> _ The time has come, _
> 
> _ Hope you’re ready! _
> 
> _ Everybody rock-steady _
> 
> _ It’s time _
> 
> _ I said, it’s time _
> 
> _ Well, it’s time _
> 
> _ I mean, it’s time _
> 
> _ Well, it’s time _
> 
> _ I said, it’s time _


	15. También

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentino regroups with Vox after the fateful clash between the Radio Demon and the lover he scorned. But how will the dangerous duo retaliate against the pimp who plotted to blow it all wide open?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title, and the Valentino vibe, for this chapter is ["Maria También"](https://youtu.be/9cN1XCpfWD4) by Khruangbin.
> 
> **CONTENT WARNING: THERE IS A NSFW-ISH IMAGE IN THIS CHAPTER.**

“Well, well, well…” Valentino purred as he strode into Vox’s office. “What a pretty picture.”

And so it was. Vox sat comfortably in a high-backed chair, an almost weary repose. His screen was back in place, albeit cracked, a corner brilliant neon in test signal colors, but he had not bothered to clean the evidence of his clash with Alastor. Black ruined down his front, bowtie a wet smear, streaks of pitch dripped over his white cravat. Wrapped around his palm was a black leash threaded through with red and blue pulsing lines, and at the other end--the Radio Demon.

Alastor knelt at Vox’s feet, a collar tight around his neck, black and glittering with electric blue circuitry. His wrists were bound in that same mechanical black, kept tight together in front of him by two links sparking with electricity. He was without his signature suit, instead robed in the elegant dressing gown he had worn the last time he and Vox had met, when he had denied him his deal. Beneath he was kept decent only by a pair of black panties--lace, of course, that itched an already irritated deer demon.

His irritation--and anticipation--was masked by a thick leather muzzle strapped across that deadly maw, revealing only glowering scarlet eyes, downcast. It was not a look of utter defeat; no, Alastor could not muster such an expression if he tried. But he focused on the furred hem of Valentino’s coat as he advanced.

“My plan worked,” Valentino said with a grin. “See, Vox, I told ya I’m the brains of this operation. What would you do without me?”

Vox fixed Valentino in his gaze, the occasional glitch tearing through the image of narrowed eyes and grinning fangs. “Whxxxat  _ wz-wx-would _ I do wz-wx-without you, Val?” he grated out through damaged speakers.

“Scrawny little thing,” Valentino muttered as he sauntered up, his lower hand cupping Alastor’s narrow chin, lifting his gaze. The bloodlust that greeted him there made his blood run cold.

Alastor jerked toward him with a growl, just to see him jump. He wasn’t disappointed. Vox held his leash fast, and the pull on his throat only sweetened the reaction.

Valentino instinctively withdrew his hand and pulled back to slap Alastor’s impertinent cheek. Before his strong backhand could make contact, Vox’s free hand lunged out to catch Valentino’s wrist, stiff as an iron bar.

Valentino’s eyes narrowed on Vox. “Spare the rod, spoil the bitch. Ya got a lot to learn about keepin’ pets, baby.”

“Axxxxnd you’ve gz-gx-got a lz-lx-lot to learn about knz-knx-knowing your  _ pxxxlace,  _ Val…” Vox replied with dark promise.

“My place?” Valentino sneered as he ripped his hand free from Vox’s grip. “You’ve been so fucking out of it ever since this bullshit started, you’re lucky the Network didn’t collapse. That  _ I  _ was around to keep shit running.”

“Dz-dx-don’t flatter yourself, Vxxxal,” Vox snapped.

“Dig yourself, Voxxy,” Valentino shot right back. “You know what a pain in the fucking ass you’ve been?”

Vox narrowed his eyes up at Valentino. Truth be told, it was only by the grace of Alastor’s shadows that his screen even stayed in place.

“Listen, I don’t give a shit what kinda  _ games  _ you two wanna play,” Valentino said, gesturing between the two of them, “But leave me the fuck outta it.”

The connection between Vox’s screen and his damaged cables sparked and fizzled.

“Do you think I’m  _ stupid _ ?” Valentino asked, grin splitting wide as he leaned toward Vox. “Oh,  _ jesus,  _ Vox, you really are--” He sighed and straightened, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ve been watchin’ this schoolyard crush play out for  _ years. _ Years!”

Alastor turned toward Vox and leveled him with a flat, unamused stare.

“I know you, Vox. I know you fuckin’ better than you know yourself,” Valentino sighed. “You’re a fucking idiot. Ya don’t take… what’s the word…  _ advice  _ well,” he snorted. He glanced down at Alastor, grin widening. “Did he put you up to this?”

Alastor all but rolled his eyes and disappeared in a cocoon of shadow. Vox grimmaced as he felt those shadows twined around his system, helping to hold together, tighten and dig into his flesh. The ball of shadows grew and morphed into the familiar shape and height of the Radio Demon, then evaporated with a smart  _ poof. _ Fully dressed, not a scratch or stain on him, Alastor stood at Vox’s side, leering at him with thinly veiled malice behind a smile.

“So…” Alastor slowly turned his glowering gaze up toward Valentino. “You were aware.”

“Of what?” Valentino scoffed. “How bad you two got it for each other?” He snickered. “No fuckin’ shit.”

“Whz-whx-what about the tz-tx-tapes?” Vox asked quietly, his voice garbled and strained. “The plz-plx-plan?”

“The  _ plan _ ?” Alastor turned on Vox with a lift of his eyebrow.

Vox avoided that gaze like his after-life depended on it.

“Pfft!” Valentino made a jerking off motion in the air and rolled his eyes. “Alastor’s your obsession, not mine.” He adjusted his glasses with a lift of his brows. “It’s all about the stakes, baby. Raise the stakes high enough and I knew you’d see the light.”

“Whxxxxat,” Vox said in monotone.

“This stupid little  _ courtship ritual  _ you two got going on? Is fucking with  _ my  _ business now. So I just wanted to get it over with. Cut the shit. This  _ will they or won’t they  _ shit is for mortal suckers. We got eternity, baby, but not when it’s my bottom line.”

“Sz-sx-so you…”

“Rigged the game?” Valentino grinned.

“I didn’t take you for the type, Valentino,” Alastor mused, lifting his critical gaze up at the pimp.

“The  _ type _ ?” Valentino reached into his coat and withdrew a metallic pink cigarette case, popping it open with a click. “What type is that, baby?”

“To play matchmaker,” Alastor replied, unable to quell the bemused quirk of his lips.

“Ha!” Valentino took out a cigarette and flicked it between his lips, returning the case to his coat in the same fluid motion that he used another hand to bring a lighter into play. “Love is bullshit. Don’t touch the stuff, myself. But you old fuckers?” Valentino shrugged and snapped his lighter closed, sucking in and breathing out a signature pink cloud. He eyed his old friend and business partner, then glanced at that eternally composed pain in the ass, dubious glances both. “Ya deserve each other.”

“Yz-yx-you… you plz-plx-played me?” Vox asked.

“Like a fuckin’ Atari, baby,” Valentino cackled. “I knew you wouldn’t destroy Alastor’s reputation. That’s what you fuckin’ like about him so much.” The roach eyed Alastor with a raised brow. “All that power, that  _ clout. _ ” He whistled, then narrowed his eyes at Vox. “I know  _ your  _ type, baby.” He turned on his heel and stalked through Vox’s office, ashing his cigarette as he went. “All’s I had to do was plant that little seed…” He glanced over his shoulder, fluffy collar framing his face. “Show ya what  _ could  _ have been.” He shrugged. “Ya can lead a horse to water…”

“About these  _ tapes, _ ” Alastor interjected with a tilt of his head.

Valentino’s eyes narrowed. “What, like you couldn’t destroy ‘em yourself?”

Alastor chuckled. “Clever man.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ stupid, that’s for sure,” Valentino reiterated, pointing his cigarette at Alastor with a grin. “Have fun with  _ that  _ idiot,” he said, gesturing toward Vox, fangs gleaming in a shit-eating grin. “Now, I got a bettin’ pool to set up on how long this shit lasts.” Valentino continued to saunter toward the door, throwing up at peace sign in his wake. “Deuces.”

And with that, Valentino took his leave, the door clicking behind him.

Alastor stood stiffly at Vox’s side, but the television demon could feel fingers of shadow crawling over his frame. Sparks spit from Vox’s bloodied and battered body, monitor teetering unsteadily as he tipped his screen toward the other.

“You keep surprisingly good company,” Alastor mused, slowly turning to peer at Vox. “At least  _ someone  _ has a good head on their shoulders.”

“Hz-hx-hey,” Vox said defensively. “Don’t az-ax-act like  _ you  _ dz-dx-didn’t turn txxxail and run at the fz-fx-first hint of--”

Vox was swiftly silenced by a tendril of shadow reentering the wound that Alastor had closed just before Valentino was summoned for the ‘big reveal.’ He let out a wet choke of protest.

“Now, now,” Alastor admonished with a serene smile. “There’s no need for pointing fingers.”

Vox slumped in his chair, not quite grievously injured, but far from comfortable. Despite the fresh hole in his throat, Vox felt like it was his  _ pride  _ that hurt the worst. All this time, Valentino had been  _ well  _ aware that his obsession with Alastor was far from just an adversarial interest. He angled his eyes toward Alastor through his flickering display. He had to wonder if this had been Alastor intent all along.

How real was the game? Would they ever had confronted this…  _ thing  _ between them unless Alastor had decided to fuck with him? What  _ had  _ his intent been all along? To destroy him? Or to win him?

Vox tried to clear his throat. It came out more of a gurgle of static than anything else. Alastor blinked at him patiently. Vox gestured toward the obstruction in his throat.

“Oh, so you  _ do  _ rely on your windpipe to speak,” Alastor said with malicious delight. “Do you have something useful to say now?”

All of Vox’s important questions buzzed through his system, each vying for priority in his injured throat. But after that little jab from Alastor, only one question came from his speakers and technicolor-smeared grin: “Are you sz-sx-still wearing those pz-px-panties?”

Alastor promptly divested Vox’s monitor from his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, my friends, is the end of this wild ride. ♥ Thank you all for joining me and Kyng in this fantastic collaboration!! I adore each and every one of your comments. They inspire me to keep creating more great content!
> 
> If you want to help support me and the artist, you can follow us on Twitter! I'm [@vol_ctrl](https://twitter.com/vol_ctrl) and Kyng is [@kyng_sg](https://twitter.com/kyng_sg).
> 
> There is an epilogue chapter in the works, but in the mean time, I bid you all to _stay tuned . . ._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! For updates on my other projects and more content follow me over on Twitter [@vol_ctrl](https://twitter.com/vol_ctrl) ~
> 
> All art is done by Kyng. Pop on over to [@Kyng_SG](https://twitter.com/kyng_sg) and follow them to look at more of their beautiful art!!


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